


Lady of the Lilies

by Nilsine



Series: Tales of the Vermengte [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Dark Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Bigotry, Corruption, Curses, Dimension Travel, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Insanity, Moral Ambiguity, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Personalities, Multiple Universes, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Incest, Politics, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Horror, Religious Conflict, Romance, Royalty, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Beings, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilsine/pseuds/Nilsine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His voice was deep but quiet. She felt his lips dance on her neck. She knew she should escape his embrace, but her head reeled, and his scent made her weak, and his strong embrace... made her feel safe.</p><p>"You are mine!" he sang playfully. "You are mine, and we are one forever!"</p><p>In a string of horrific, strange events, Tifa plummets into a fairytale gone mad that is anything but make-believe. The only salvation for this hapless princess is a man who is as terrifying as he is kind... a man who loves her as much as he hates her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just another fic I decided to post from Fanfiction. But this one is the second version (LL rewritten), not the original--thank God.

The clock tower chimed for midnight.

It was a stormy night in the city of Royals. The city stood helplessly under the torrential rain; the skies were purplish grey, murky and unclear, with no stars or moon to light the way. Periodic lightning bolts flashed across the sky.

The cobblestone streets were covered in a shallow lake of water, enough to drench your ankles. The flames of the street lamps were covered by glass encasings and lit the way for the few weary travelers who would brave the ghastly weather.

It was on this night that a man walked the streets alone, looking for shelter. His posture was hunched, and one hand was clutched on his side. The other pressed against a building to help him go forward.

His whole body was soaked to the bone. His clothes and hair stuck to him like glue. Blood seeped onto his white shirt, barely seen under his black overcoat. For a moment, he stopped to catch his breath. A half-smile appeared on his face, and he kept going.

He had won! He had won! They came after him, and he had won! Served them right. They should have known better than to attack him, and they had it coming! How gloriously ironic!

His back straightened up, with his hand still sliding on the wall. He let his head fall back, and a vindictive cackle escape from his mouth.

“Dance, dance, fools!” he cried. “Pack of bloody varlets!”

It had been a terrifying battle. Swords came at him, and the stench of blood filled his nostrils. He could still feel that blade cutting him in the side, and it made him shudder. And the lives he took… the people he maimed... just in a moment. He could smell death at every corner of the city, and their death rattles rang in his ears. His skin felt raw, and the rain stung him. His mood slowly began to sour.

He felt tired, so tired.

The man reached a covering and was glad to escape the rain, for just a moment. He could not keep exposing himself like this. He needed a place to stay and fast.

He sat down on the ground, underneath the covering, wanting to stay away from the rain for a little while longer. The world was an empty void, and he was alone. The last sounds of the midnight call melted into the night.


	2. I: It started with a meow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonky things kept happening with this fic (it kept doing weird things when I tried to edit a chapter, and people kept saying that one of the chapters repeated--from my end, I couldn't find out exactly WHAT was repeating). So, I just reposted everything just to make sure.

It was morning, and Tifa knew that the rain had stopped. Before she opened her wine-colored eyes, she could smell the aroma of clean air from her opened window, and the rhythmic splattering sound was gone. The sun was out, and the sky was a sweet, clear azure with few clouds in the sky. It promised a marvelous day.

Tifa yawned and crawled on all fours until she came to the edge of the soft, gargantuan bed. She slipped her long legs over the edge and pressed her feet into the carpet. She stood up, abandoning the warmth of her bed, and entered her closet. She scratched her scalp lazily.

She drifted towards to corner of her closet, where her vanity stood, and sat on the cushioned stool. Her brunette hair fell down her back, just above her knees and over her shoulders. Tifa retrieved a golden brush from a drawer and worked it carefully through the tresses of her hair.

Outside her door, she heard the maids gossiping and running along the halls. Anytime now, they would come right in and do everything for her. Everyone did everything for her. That was the way of things.

The door to her bedroom creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Footsteps came up to the door of her closet, and the person knocked, calling her name.

Tifa recognized the voice of her begleiter and beckoned her to enter. The door opened, and a maid came in first, holding a small salver with an elegant teacup. Following the maid, Yuffie stepped into the closet in her courtier best. Tifa turned from the vanity and smiled.

"Good morning, Princess," Yuffie chirped.

"Good morning to you," Tifa answered.

The maid set the tray on the counter. She curtsied, bowing her head and disappeared. Tifa continued to leisurely brush her hair and saw the reflection of the cup in the looking glass.

"Is that what I think it is?" Tifa asked.

"Sorry," Yuffie replied in distaste.

Yuffie handed the cup to her mistress. Tifa forced herself not to breath through her nose and took the first sip.

"Delicious," Tifa muttered sarcastically. "Of all the wonderful tisanes in the world, they hand-picked the finest!"

"It is good for the immune system," Yuffie reminded her. "And I made cold so you could drink it faster."

"Apple tea is good for the immune system too," Tifa replied.

Tifa tried to consume the awful drink as fast as she could, but today was not the day. She handed it back and returned to brushing her hair.

"Pour it out, Yuffie."

"Your highness!" Yuffie protested.

"Just toss it, Yuffie."

Yuffie sighed and gave in. She left the closet, entering the bedroom, and marched into the balcony. She looked out below to see if anyone was around, and after discerning that the coast was clear, she turned the cup upside down over the balcony rail and watched the liquid hit the grass.

With the dastardly deed done, Yuffie went back to the closet and showed her mistress the empty cup. Tifa was satisfied.

"If anyone finds out," Yuffie threatened, "I shall sing like a nightingale!"

"Feel free to do so," Tifa deadpanned, and she continued grooming her with care.

Yuffie snorted wearily and reached out, claiming the handle of the brush. Tifa let go and allowed her to go on with the task. As the bristles moved through the thick locks, they both breathed a mutual sigh.

"I let you sleep in a little today," Yuffie told her, "So, it would be best if we hurry. The weekly conference will be in two hours time."

Tifa stiffened in surprise. "T-two hours? Why did you not wake me at the proper time?"

Yuffie stopped for a moment, as if in thought. The brush remained poised.

"You did not seem well last night," she replied. "That was all."

Tifa raised her eyebrow and smiled. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Yuffie, you worry too much..."

 

As usual, the conference was boring.

The Princess of Gelinde, all dressed in green, and her begleiter lounged comfortably in the balcony area above and watched the conference as it functioned. Down below, the heads of the court administration were seated around a long, rectangular table, and his highness, King Lars, sat at the far end of the table in his majestic chair.

Tifa yawned and struggled to stay awake.

A cheery, stout maid served Yuffie some fragrant breakfast tea, while a small, dowdy maid poured yet another cup of awful tisane for Tifa. Yuffie gave her a knowing and sympathetic look, but Tifa was too tired to notice her predicament. She was slowly slipping under.

Meanwhile, at the conference table, a certain man was given permission to speak. He stood up at the table, large, fat, and gaudily dressed, and puffed up his chest. He put on a pair of pince-nez, unrolled a long scroll of paper, and clear his throat for emphasize. He spoke with a loud and self-important voice.

Tifa drifted into a doze and made small noises under her breath. The meeting continued on without her.

"…And the preparation for the cotillion of her lady, the Princess, is well on schedule," the man declared. "All reservations and important matters have been well and accounted for, and as far as we know, we are not to hit any snags. The high priest Kisaragi has predicted that the weather shall be favorable, and there shall be goodwill upon the week. Also, there will at least be twenty worthy suitors who shall be attending the festivities. This select few includes his highness, Prince Zack, Heir Apparent of Kiel, the Duke of…"

Yuffie reached over and gave her a rousing pinch, and she jolted awake. The man continued rambling on.

"Drink a bit of that awful tisane," Yuffie instructed. "It helps, does it not?"

Tifa scoffed but reached for the cup. The foreboding smell sent a disgusted chill down her spine. One sip, and her taste buds nearly perished all over again.

"Moving on to different matters," he went on, "We have already made plans for the Ulbrecht Charity Ball, which has been set for the 30th of September. Of course, that is if his majesty does not mind this particular date…"

"That Corneo!" Yuffie spat in contempt. "Talking as if it is all is thanks to his 'hard work'. He never does any of it himself..."

"Yuffie!" Tifa scolded. "You should not speak ill of Father Corneo. He is a holy, ordained priest."

"In the eyes of man, yes," Yuffie replied snidely.

Tifa shook her head lightly and took another sip. The tisane was still disgusting.

"What is he claiming that he has done?" Tifa asked, and with a blush of embarrassment, "I think I may have slept through it."

"Forget it. It was nothing of true importance."

They both became silent again and listened in the meeting below. Tifa sat her cup on the saucer and tried to eliminate the bitter taste with her saliva.

"That concludes my report," Father Corneo ended proudly. "I hope his majesty is pleased with the news."

"I am," Lars said. "You may be seated, Master of Ceremonies."

There was a short pause of murmuring and the ruffling of papers. Tifa leaned forward to get a better view of her father. He was very far away.

"And I trust you have a favorable report as well, Lord Taliesin?" he signaled.

Another man, a tall, bald gentleman, stood up and bowed his head. "Yes, your grace."

Tifa stood up as well, picked up the skirt of her dress, and walked towards the edge of the balcony. The entire conference room became clearer and more expansive in her eyes; she could see all of the people, sitting in their finery, waiting to give fancy speeches and listening with feigned interest to others. But Lord Rude Taliesin, dressed in unassuming shades of grey, blue, and black, was poised and without pretension.

"Continuing on a serious matter that was discussed in our last meeting," Rude began, "The authorities have concluded that many neighborhoods in the neighboring city of Hafen were damaged in the disastrous fire that took place there. Among some areas, the pleasure district was completely destroyed and beyond repair. However, the citizens are already making exceptional steps to clean up destruction, and I am already prepared to send my workers to rebuild some strategic places, including the town square and the city hall."

Tifa clenched the balcony rail and bit her lip. Yuffie joined her at the edge of the balcony and put a supportive hand on mistress' arm.

"Also, on behalf of her ladyship, the Princess, I would like to make a request."

The room became quiet. Tifa swallowed.

"A request?" said the king.

"Well…" Rude hesitated. "With your permission, your grace, her ladyship does not want the pleasure district to be rebuilt. Rather, she wants the entire area to be rebuilt… as a district for orphans."

"Orphans?"

The table became abuzz again, only this time with mixed feelings. Tifa leaned closer Yuffie and grabbed her free hand.

"You see," Rude went on, "The Lady Princess insists, and reasons, that the burning of this particular district, including other areas that were rumored to be of ill-repute, was perhaps the will of God. She also claims that allowing such places of vice will only encourage more vice…"

Lars nodded in agreement. Nevertheless, some that were seated at the table began to grow rigid.

"And so… instead of recreating these certain areas, the Princess has suggested to redeem these places for charitable and social good. She was very quick to remind me that many orphanages are infamous for their squalor, lack of education, and poorly equipped facilities. Also, she would like to have a halfway house and an improved hospital to replace some other choice areas."

"And do you have any plans for this endeavor?" Lars asked.

Rude paused for a moment to take a deep breath.

"Yes," Tifa whispered quietly. "Yes."

"Of course," Rude answered. "The halfway house and the hospital are still merely ideas, but by taking some of her propositions, I would envision this orphanage to be built in a fashion that imitates a university and a manor house. I have already had three possible plans drawn up for its construction, and her ladyship favors one in particular. Furthermore, she also proposed to use the orphanage district as a way to employ financially challenged citizens… such as other orphans who are nearly grown, widows that are need of money, and other such people. They can be educated on how to care of the complex and how teach the children while the construction is taking place. That way, everything will be ready as soon as the orphanage is opened."

Another pause ensued. The table quieted down again. Tifa leaned closer over the rail and became very stiff; Yuffie almost feared that her mistress would tip over.

"I see," Lars said finally. "I can tell that this proposal is well thought out. So, a better alternative for the orphans… and an opportunity for the less fortunate to find employment. I approve."

"Thank you, your majesty!" Rude cried.

Tifa squealed in delight and pounced upon Yuffie. They held each other cozily and rocked together in triumph. It was a good day indeed.

"I shall leave the matter to you and the Princess," the king continued. "But do not weigh her with too much. Is that clear?"

"I would not dream of it, your majesty."

"Do you have any other news, Lord Taliesin?"

"Yes… throughout the province, the dams and bridges are in need of some repair…"

 

 

 

Deep in the heart of Royals, Ulbrecht Palace stood grandly and proudly in all its majesty. The compound looked like an elegant, stylized village.

The main building of the palace, where the king and his family resided, was fashioned in dark grey brick and light grey stone. It had many wings and sections, several entryways, long halls, and a countless number of windows. The front of the palace had a waterfall of steps, and massive camellia bushes were planted between each staircase.

This was where Tifa called home.

An iron enclosure surrounded the entirety of the grounds, and four guards were posted at every gate. Tall trees were planted along the inside to enhance the privacy of the inhabitants. It was not proper for average aristocrats and commoners to look upon the building with a casual glance.

Upon entering the palace grounds, a visitor would have to go down a path that was lined by massive oak trees, until they reached the location of the main building in the clearing. The first people one might see were the menservants, who would be working the grounds and keeping it polished condition.

On this particular day, the grounds were swarming with people. Some were polishing the fountain in the cul-de-sac of the front entrance. Others were putting up the first touches of decorations. The head of servant women had just finished inspecting those who were under her and freed them to do their duty. Gardeners salvaged the leftover rainwater and fed it to the plants.

And the royal pooch ran wild while a servant boy tried to catch it.

The dog splashed gleefully in the puddles, reveling in its hard-won freedom. The boy slipped and nearly fell splat on the ground at every step.

"Lancer!" he shouted. "Come here, boy! Lancer!"

Lancer barked mischievously and kept leaping from puddle to puddle. After a few minutes of the rough and tumble game, another voice called out and enticed the dog.

"Lancer! I got something for you!"

Lancer stopped and turned his small little head. From a short distance, Tifa crouched on the palace steps and held out her hands. The canine saw his favorite biscuits in her palms. Yuffie stood behind Tifa and waited. Lady Shera Haslett approached the young girls and stopped a few feet away.

The boy ceased as well and watched as the dog ran up to claim the snack. Tifa dropped a biscuit on the steps, and the dog snatched it up greedily. It then devoured the rest of the biscuits from her hands. After they were all gone, Tifa took hold of the dog so it could not escape again. She acknowledged Johnny and nodded her head to him.

"Good morning, your highness," the boy greeted with a polite bow, and then he trotted away. His current task was done.

Tifa gave Yuffie an amused smirk, and they chuckled quietly.

"I see you are quiet cheery," Shera finally said, " After your new achievement at the conference."

Tifa turned to her with a wry smile and answered, "Not yet. We still have to decide on the official plan for the blueprints. Not only that, I may not be able to build the halfway house."

"Well," Shera said, "At least the orphanage is certain now. The children should be your first priority."

Tifa nodded, feeling more encouraged, and walked up the steps to meet her. Yuffie shuffled behind. Shera reached out as soon as Tifa was close enough and touched her shoulders.

"You make me proud," Shera declared.

The Princess of Gelinde beamed.

"Your highness!" a woman sang out.

Tifa cringed and turned to the voice. A few yards away, Lady Lucrecia Cassius stood in a doorway, beckoning her to come. Tifa walked towards her, and Yuffie was once again close behind.

_Hello, Lady Sourpuss,_  Tifa mentally grumbled.

Lucrecia, looking as beautiful but as dour as ever, tapped her foot on the stone ground. She offered her arm politely.

"Your father is calling for you," she said. "Hurry along… let me take the dog..."

As Tifa prepared give Lancer away, she noticed that some of the leaves in the camellia bush were twitching. A small white paw thrust out through the leaves, and something mewed in pain.

"Tis an animal in the garden," Tifa said.

"Dratted animals," Lucrecia replied coldly. "Always getting into the grounds somehow. Let the gardeners will put it out of its misery."

Tifa passed the dog to Lucrecia and approached the bush. She leaned over rail of the staircase and reached into the leaves. Her knuckles brushed past a camellia blossom.

"Your highness!" Lucrecia protested. "What on earth are you doing? We have no time for this..."

The creature was hissing. Tifa dug her hands further into the bush, trying to feel for its body. Tifa found it, but she felt something sticky and unpleasant on its fur. She pulled back one hand and saw blood on her fingertips. Shera appeared by her and saw it staining her hands.

"Eh?" Shera clucked. "Perhaps, I should get it for you, Princess?"

"Nay!" Tifa replied. "I have to pair of hands, do I not?"

Tifa leaned further, nearly burying the side of her face in the leaves. She grunted in the exertion and felt a pair of hands on her back.

"Have you almost got it?" Yuffie asked.

"Aye, just about," Tifa answered.

Slowly but steadily, Tifa pulled out a cat from the tangled branches of the bush. Its fur was bloodied considerably, and its whiskers were mangled. Tifa cooed and cradled the cat in her arms, staining her dress.

"Oh, the poor thing," Shera cooed. "How did it get stuck that high in the bushes?"

The cat let out a relieved "mrrow" and closed its eyes tight.

"That I shall never know," Tifa said. "But it is my problem now."

She then headed back into the palace with haste. Yuffie bounded after her and shouted, "Oi! Wait for me, will you?" Shera trailed them slowly, covering her mouth and giggling as she ascended the stairs.

"Princess, that cat is a stray," Lucrecia called out. "It could have fleas. You should give it to a gardener."

Everyone ignored her and stepped inside. Lady Cassius huffed and went after them.

 

 

 

Lars, the great king of Gelinde, was annoyed but careful to conceal it. As a ruling monarch, he knew that it would be undignified to vent his frustrations. Impulsively expressing his emotions over such a trivial matter would be improper, especially in front of Zack, the Crown Prince of Kiel, who sat across from him in the solarium.

But unlike him, Zack was of a better temperament and waited calmly and patiently at the table with a cheerful grin on his face. He seemed completely oblivious. Beside the prince, Lord Reno Baldemar was sitting very straight in his chair, but his mind appeared to be elsewhere. Perhaps, by the soft smile on his face, he was daydreaming.

Simultaneously, two maids were serving them tea and hot pastries from the oven. As one of the maids put some assorted treats on their plates, she looked up and gave the prince a humble smile. She did the same for her king, who hardly noticed.

"What kind of tea do you have a taste for, your highnesses?" she asked.

"Some Earl Grey would be nice today," Lars replied.

"Just hot water and lemon," Zack requested. "No sugar."

"Oh!" Reno said (finally out of his reverie). "I would like Fermented Apple."

The maid jerked her head in quick nod and she helped her partner prepare the hot drinks with mechanical precision.

"Forgive the tardiness of my daughter," Lars droned.

"Quite alright," Zack replied. "You should never rush a lady. Perhaps something happened."

Zack looked to his companion, who agreed with a brusque nod. He chose a random pastry. It resembled a mussel shell and tasted remarkably foreign.

"How does your father do?" Lars asked.

"Very well, your grace," Zack answered. "He sends you his regards."

Lars smiled nostalgically and chuckled.

"Of course he would," he mused. "When we were mere college students, your father and I exchanged notes together."

"And now you exchange children?" Zack inquired.

Lars smiled wryly.

The door to the solarium opened, and a well-dressed servant stepped inside. He bowed his head to the king and prince and kept his hands behind his back.

"My lord," he said. "Lady Cassius is here."

"Show her in," Lars replied stoically.

The servant bowed again and stole out of the solarium. Lucrecia walked past him through the door and folded her hands at the front of her dress. Lars noticed that her lips were pursed tightly together.

"God save you, your majesty," she greeted with genuflection.

"What of my daughter?" Lars asked.

"She is delayed."

Lars felt his heart skip a beat and straightened up in his chair.

"Is she not feeling well?" he asked.

"She is well," Lucrecia replied. "But she has insisted on rescuing an injured cat. It was caught in the camellias."

Lars coughed a little and relaxed...somewhat. "What will I do with that child?"

"I tried to tell her to leave it to the gardeners," Lucrecia confessed, "But she would not stand for it. And her dress got ruined. I think she is cleaning herself up."

"Tell her that we are waiting," Lars replied firmly.

"I shall do my best, your grace."

Lucrecia left wearily, with her dress bobbing almost unstably. The door was shut behind her.

"Your daughter loves cats?" Zack asked.

"I hardly remember her liking animals at all," Lars replied resolutely. "Please forgive her waywardness."

Zack was more than willing to do so. So was Lord Baldemar.

 

 

 

After being greatly taken care off, the cat was laid to rest in a basket. A curious set of bandages was wrapped around its midsection. Yuffie knelt down next to the basket and lightly stroked its back. From the middle of room, Tifa turned her head from time to time while the maids were helping her put on another polonaise.

"It cannot be a stray," Yuffie said confidently.

"Why not?" Tifa asked.

"Because of its fur," Yuffie answered. "So nice and kept."

The cat purred under her fingers, and Yuffie giggled. "And if it was a stray, it would have scratched you."

"I suppose so," Tifa said. "However, I still wonder how it got into the garden. The enclosure is far too high for a cat to climb over."

The maids clasped the last buttons and released her. Tifa thanked them and joined her companion.

The feline was astonishingly pretty. At first glance, its fur was white, but after a closer look, you could see yellowish gold specks all over it coat. It seemed very healthy, in spite of its injured state. Tifa took in the scent of its fur, unusually fragrant and intoxicating.

The wounds would heel well.

Tifa felt its nose and was relieved to know that it was moist.  _You poor little thing,_  she thought.

"We should be going now," Tifa said. "Father is probably angry with me."

The princess and her companion stood up together. They locked arms and stepped out the bedroom.

"Why did Father want me to come again?" Tifa asked.

"To meet another suitor," Yuffie replied.

"Then we must not keep them waiting."

They left her suite snickering. Meanwhile, the maids filed out of the bedroom behind them, and the cat was left alone.

The window was left open to let in the good air. The feline opened its eyes and turned its head from side to side. It lifted its head toward the opened balcony and saw a large, old tree. A barn owl was perched in broad daylight on one of its sturdy branches, and it stared down at the cat with its piercing, green eyes.

 

 

 

"I take this to be the Princess," Zack said endearingly. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

Zack and Reno bowed to Tifa, and she and her companion curtsied to them. She stepped forward and lent Zack her hand to kiss it. For now, Lars was pleased.

The ladies joined them at the table, and Lars ordered a maid to pour them some tea. Tifa was given one that was different from the rest. She recognized the smell and wrinkled her nose. More blasted tisane.

"Sorry," Tifa said. "I had a bit of delay…"

"We heard about it," Lars cut her off.

Tifa read his mood, (though he hid it well) and winced in her seat. She sensed that she would need a good set of earplugs later on.

Zack squeezed a lemon over his hot water and stirred it with a spoon.

"You like cats?" Zack asked.

"Not particularly," Tifa replied. "But I like this one. It is quite a darling thing. Father, you should see it."

"You cannot keep it," Lars replied. "Taking care of an animal takes energy, my dear. Give it to the servants to play with."

"But the poor thing is injured!" Tifa argued. "It had a laceration in its side. And you have Lancer…"

"You are not keeping it," he repeated.

Tifa sunk her head and bit her lip.  _How unreasonable,_ she thought grumpily. _He is only sore because I was not on time to meet some other rich suitor. Methinks, he cannot wait to marry me off..._

"But sir," Zack said. "The maids can take care of it for her. There is nothing like a pet to liven up the spirit. "

"N-now see here..." Lars said, raising a thick eyebrow.

"I like cats," he continued. "And I hear that they secrete healing properties from their fur. May I see it later?"

Lars let his voice crack in defeat. Zack watched with satisfaction as Tifa grinned in delight.

_The world spoils this girl_ , the king thought in dismay.

But he still adored her… and was proud.

 

 

 

Later that night, Tifa gazed into the looking glass of her vanity. She felt lightheaded and struggled to keep her head. Yuffie admired her hair and brushed affectionately into its tresses. The cat slept on its basket, right near their feet.

"The Prince of Kiel seems nice," Yuffie commented. "Handsome too."

"I dare say he is," Tifa replied, flushed. "He was very kind... and sensitive. I am glad he was able to convince father to let me nurse the feline back to health."

Yuffie set the brush down and plaited the hair. Tifa began to feel a slight pain in her head.

"Are you alright?" Yuffie asked.

Tifa nodded tiredly and yawned. Yuffie finished the braid and tied the end with a ribbon.

"Unnatural rain storm last night," Yuffie reflected. "Even for an April shower."

"But the air is cleaner now," Tifa replied.

The pain in her head grew worse. She gritted her teeth but tried to hide it.

"So strange," Yuffie said. "So much happened today, but it seems little to be excited about."

"Hmmm."

"Are you sure you are well?" Yuffie asked. "You look rather pale."

"I am fine," Tifa replied stubbornly. "Go on. You were saying?"

Yuffie frowned at her mistress but continued on anyhow.

"Two major things happened. First, this darling cat comes out of the middle of nowhere…and then, the prince of Kiel pays us a visit. It feels as if nothing has changed…and yet, it feels as if something will change. Like calm before the storm…or something of sorts…"

Tifa held her head and began to lose her balance. Her sight blurred, and her head seemed to swim. Yuffie saw her fall over from her chair and shrieked before catching her at the last minute. The chair fell over, and the cat woke up from the noise.

Tifa vomited her evening tisane onto the floor, something she did not mind so much. She convulsed in the arms of her companion and heard her crying out for help. Her voice sounded distant.

 

 

 

The room was dim with candlelight. The doctor put his equipment back into his leather bag. Tifa lay asleep in bed, sedated with a sleeping draught. Her skin had lost all of its color, and her hair clung to her forehead with sweat. The king paced outside the door, with his advisor, Lord Hojo Cassius, standing by the door. The doctor left the room and entered the hallway.

"How is she?" Lars asked quietly.

"Badly off," the doctor answered. "It was a rather violent anemic turn. But it is nothing to worry over. Just give her a few days rest... as usual."

Lars dropped his eyes and sighed in relief. His daughter was safe once again.

"Will any more of my services be needed, your majesty?"

"No, thank you. Go on your way."

The doctor bowed his head and walked away, with Hojo following him.

Lars peaked through the door and watched his daughter in her state. He sighed helplessly and started to close it. When the door was ajar, he noticed the cat in its basket by the bed and thought that it was sleeping.

But the cat opened its eyes in a flash. It made deliberate eye contact with the king and locked a strange glare upon him.

Lars felt a cold chill go down his spine and shut the door.

 

 

 

The sleeping drugs wore off too soon, and Tifa woke up in agony. Her whole body felt stiff and weak, and her head was throbbing. She wanted to comb the sticky hair off of her forehead, but she could barely lift a finger. She was very hungry.

The room was grayish blue, so Tifa assumed that it was almost sunrise. Her eyes were weak, probably from exhaustion, so she could not even see the ceiling. And yet... a strange, familiar, rousing smell filled her nostrils. She moved her neck from side to side and struggled to move her head up.

And then she had a fright.

The cat lay weightlessly upon her chest, with it eyes trained directly on her. Its eyes, a strange fluorescent blue, had an oddly vacant expression. Tifa gasped and wanted to move, but her body would not comply.

For some reason or force, Tifa found herself being willed to look into its eyes. She stared at the cat, and it stared back at her.

Tifa felt a spark in the back of her head, and the pain melted away. Strength seeped back into her limbs, and she moved her fingers around with ease. But they continued to stare at each other. Inside their minds, a strange form of understanding came between them.

Tifa smiled.

The feline stood and slipped off of her chest. It paced casually on the bed, waiting for her to sit up. She propped herself on the pillows and scratched it behind the ears. Tifa took a deep breath and realized that she had not been breathing properly.

The cat moved freely, with its bandages wrapped around its small body. It shifted its head under her hand and yawned. Tifa saw its white fangs and its small, pink tongue sticking out. White lids closed over its eyes; its whiskers twitched.

"Good morning, dear grimalkin," Tifa said.

"Meow!" the cat replied.

An hour later, Yuffie walked the wide halls of the palace and returned into her mistress' suite. Besides the door clicking shut or the ticking of the clock, Yuffie heard nothing. Her steps echoed on the marble floor. It was quiet, too quiet for her to bear.

She quietly opened the door to the bedroom and looked inside. The sheets were in disarray and the bed was empty. Yuffie coughed in surprise.

"Tifa?" Yuffie called. "Are you there?"

No one answered. Yuffie shut the door and broke into a run. She opened random doors and peaked inside to see if her precious charge was there.

"Tifa! Where are you?  _Princess_?"

"In the living area!"

Yuffie was nothing short of bewildered. Instead of hearing weak, pitiful whispers, Tifa sounded as if she were having a Christmas morning. She investigated quickly, heading towards the living area, and found her mistress, sitting by the window and looking the window.

Tifa was a sight. The top of her head was messy from her ordeal. The cat lounged in her lap and purred under her gentle touch. For a moment, she hardly noticed or remembered that Yuffie was there. The cat looked up to her, and she looked down. Its peculiar, clever eyes shone at her like jewels.

"Tifa."

Tifa came back to earth and gave her companion a warm simper.

"Should you not be in bed?" Yuffie asked in concern.

Yuffie saw the healthy glow in her mistress' skin and knew right away. But how could it be?

"All I am is hungry," Tifa said. "You came just in time."

Tifa rose slowly, giving the cat enough time to leap off. Yuffie felt a pair of arms encircle her small frame. She felt her mistress' breathing.

"Oh, why do you put up with me?" Tifa asked.

"Are we not friends?" Yuffie answered.

"Was everyone worried again?"

"Aye."

Tifa moaned in anguish. Yuffie winced when a pair of hands turned her head and a pair of lips kissed her cheeks. The princess was being more friendly than usual.

"At least you get much attention," Yuffie chirped.

"You cannot forever thrive on negative attention," Tifa replied. "It is just not on. Ah, well. Call the maids."

"Whatever for?"

"My bath, of course!" Tifa exclaimed. "But breakfast first. I am terribly hungry!"

The cat looked the through the window. The green-eyed owl perched itself on another tree and locked the feline into its gaze once more. The cat cocked its head from side to side, and the owl twisted its head almost completely around and back again. For a moment, they communicated through their eyes, and the cat bobbed its head down in a nod. The owl braced itself, leapt of the branch, and took off in flight.


	3. II: The painter, the portrait, and the lady

Somewhere in the city of Royals, a young driver sat on the top of a coach, eating a humble breakfast and waiting for his fares to come back from their business. The horse bobbed its head around from the displeasure of standing still for so long. The driver, however, was more patient and resigned to  _his_  reigns. 

By providence, the carriage was stopped between a bakehouse and hatter shop. A female employee of the hatter shop stepped outside to turn the closed sign to open. A heavily built worker from the bakery stepped outside for his morning stretch. The woman saw her daily acquaintance and whistled for his attentions. 

“You heard the rumors yet?” 

The baker lent her a listening ear. “Which one? I heard a million of them.” 

The hatter looked over her shoulder to see if her boss was coming. 

“People have been seeing some strange foreigners running about,” she declared. “Unnatural folk!” 

“Ah, I heard of ‘em. All bunkum and balderdash!”

 “Nay! I just heard something from one of me cousins,” she said. “She had just come from the bathroom… she looked out the window…and she saw a little girl jumping on the rooftops!” 

“Yer cousin must have been dreaming,” he argued. “Have you any idea what you just said?” 

“She was not dreaming! She never went back to sleep...” 

The driver could not help but overhear them. His eyes darted around his surroundings, and when he saw that his fares were nowhere in sight, he jumped at his chance. 

“Pstt! I ‘ave seen them too!” the driver declared. “I ‘ave. I would bet me life on it.” 

The lady hatter, who was glad to have support, flocked to the carriage. The skeptical baker meandered behind her. 

“Well, go on!” she urged. “Tell us!” 

The young man leaned carefully from the top of the carriage and cleared his throat. 

“Well, it was about three nights ago,” he said. “I was running some nightly jobs when some rich-looking couple hailed me over.” 

“Where they wearing strange clothes?” the woman asked anxiously. 

“Nah… their clothes looked local… but they looked rather different… I remember them having the palest skin I ever saw… as pale as…  as pale as... as cream! And they had the funniest glow in their eyes. Like a street lamp at nighttime.” 

“This is ridiculous,” the baker scoffed. 

“I never thought much for looks, though,” the driver continued. “Just as long as they paid. They wanted me to take them to some hotel at the far end of the city, so I let them inside and drove them over.” 

“And?” the woman prodded. 

“I stopped at the front of the hotel… I opened the coach door… they got out… and the gentleman handed me the fare. I looked down at my hands to count it, and the man had given me three times the cost. But when I looked up to tell him, he and the lady disappeared!” 

The hatter covered her mouth and almost jumped out of her skin. 

“You mean, they went inside the hotel,” the baker challenged. 

“Nay!” the driver cried, waving his arms frantically. “They disappeared! Vanished! Like they never were there! Poof!” 

 

 

Within the following days, the miraculous healing of the princess buzzed around the palace. The cat was very often seen at the heels of its mistress, whether it was small walk through her suite, a long venture through the halls of the palace, or an hour long session of perfecting the blueprints for the orphanage district. The king of Gelinde begrudgingly decided that the cat was a good addition to the palace (more specifically to his daughter) and allowed it to stay in her suite. He occasionally regretted the decision. 

When Lars and Zack of Kiel first met with the feline, they were bluntly rebuffed. The creature did not take to their hands and scrambled to some corner (or behind Tifa and safety of her polonaise and underskirt). This behavior confused everyone to no end, but the cat eventually learned to accept their admiration. With limitations. 

Eventually, the bandages came off, and the feline became more energetic. Nevertheless, it always donned the same blank expression in its eyes. Yuffie admitted that it bothered her. Tifa thought that it was adorable. 

And that sweet, potent smell that came from every hair of its coat... 

There were many other oddities that were out in the open. The cat preferred its food cooked and refused drink milk with meat. It was dignified and too well pampered to be a homeless; it constantly held its head up high. It feline walked gracefully and regularly licked its fur to stay clean. Tifa once found it paddling in her bath after she had gone with the maids to dress. 

But the feline was unpredictable, willful, and only obeyed the whims of its rescuer. Granted, it was no stray… but it belonged to no one either. 

And then, there were other strange things that Tifa would not dare tell (or rather, could not tell) a soul. Sometimes, when she and the cat were alone, it would go to her and press itself affectionately against her stomach. Whenever she stroked its soft fur or scratched its fur, it looked upon her with its unresponsive eyes, never changing. But as Tifa peered into its eyes, she saw through its impassive gaze and sensed strong emotions. Emotions that could not be expressed…. but ran painfully deep. 

She tried not to be concerned about it. For now, they were girl and feline. The regal princess and her elegant tabby-cat. Nothing else mattered.

  

 

About three weeks after the cat appeared in the garden, Lars invited his daughter and the prince to have brunch with him. Yuffie and the incomparable Reno included, and the cat endeared its way in. 

The maids served poached eggs, oatmeal, large sausages, finely pan-fried breakfast potatoes, and buttered toast of white, whole grain, and pumpernickel. Some seasonal fruit and small containers of tomato relish and butter were set to the side. Hot tea remained in the cups. Tifa still had to suffer the dreaded tisane. 

At one point, Zack ventured close to the cat and noticed that it had a blue ribbon tied around its neck, with an ornate, golden bell hanging from it. He attempted to feed sausages to the cat, but it rejected the offer. Lars reluctantly ordered for something else. The feline contented itself with a poached egg and some cream. 

“So, what is her name?” Reno asked. 

“ ** _He_**  has no name,” Tifa corrected. “He does not like any of the names I suggest.”

The cat meowed assent. 

“I have never heard of cat being so willful,” Yuffie stated.

Reno smirked and leaned close to her. “You could say that felines are like women. They are not so inclined to being robbed of having their own way.” 

Yuffie leaned back and glared at him in disbelief. He stuck his tongue at her, and she stuck up her nose. 

“It is a pity that the Prince Rufus has yet to join us,” Zack said. “When shall he return again?” 

“Not for another two days,” Lars answered. 

Once again, peace was interrupted by a knock. The door opened abruptly, and Hojo entered the dining room. He had a slightly irritated look on his face. 

“Forgive me for such an intrusion,” he said, “But there is a man who has long requested an audience with you.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Lars replied.

“Well...” Hojo stalled nervously.

“Well what?”

“He has been sending a flurry of letters... and he started coming to the palace gate just a few days now. It has been a dreadful annoyance... but up till now, we were able to handle it.” 

“And why have you not informed us of the matter?” Tifa intervened with a demanding tone. 

Lars raised his hand gently, signaling her to keep out of the matter. Reno made an amused, hissing sound under his breath. Zack pinched him under the table. Tifa sat up straight and glowered at the advisor. 

“We did not think that the matter was of any importance,” Hojo replied firmly, “But this impudent man has been very persistent. I have no idea why the guards let him in this time...” 

 _You sneaky, pompous, old mule,_  Tifa thought. 

“Who is he?” Lars asked. 

“He gave no name… sire. But he instructed me to tell you that he was the grandson of the painter, Grimoire.” 

Lars snorted in disbelief and sneered. “You mean the mad painter?” 

“Grimoire Valentine?” Zack questioned. “Mad? As in  ** _insane_**? My father met him once. He never mentioned such a thing to me...” 

“Either he was mad or a liar,” Lars replied derisively. “He claimed that he saw the mythical kingdom of Dunkelheit. Surely you have not heard of the ‘journal’?” 

“I never had a mind to read it.” 

“Shall I bid him enter?” Hojo asked. 

“Sure, sure!” Lars said. “Why not?” 

Hojo bowed and stepped out of the room. The three royals heard the loud clanking of metal against the marble floor, along with frustrated grunts. They raised their various eyebrows. 

A young man, probably in his early thirties, entered the dining room with a steady stride. He carried a covered, rectangular bundle under his arm.

Behind him, an unfortunate young boy was struggling valiantly with an awkward easel. 

At first glance, Tifa thought that he was a common man, probably because his hair was long and slightly unkempt. His clothes and his fair skin, however, suggested that he had come from important wealth and breeding. 

“Forgive my waywardness,” the young man said, “But my business is urgent. I thought I mentioned that in my letters.” 

“State your name,” Lars commanded (not bothering to admit that he had not read the letters). 

“I go by Vincent,” he replied. “Just Vincent… if you please. You can probably guess my surname.” 

The boy set up the easel in their view and stepped back. Vincent lifted the covered rectangle onto the easel without exposing it. A painting. 

“And your business?” Lars asked. 

“A stipulation in the will of my late grandfather,” Vincent explained. “Here is the document.” 

Vincent pulled an envelope out of his coat and handed it to the king. Lars took a pair of spectacles from his vest pocket. He opened it and pulled out an old, folded page and flapped it open. 

“Second to last paragraph, your majesty,” Vincent said. 

Lars cleared his throat and read aloud:

 

_“And dear family, before I conclude this document, I have a set of instructions for you to follow. As you know, I collected a small bit of personal items on my adventures. Please keep it in mint condition; they will be needed again for when the time comes. Remember the original text of my journal and my sketchbooks on the shelves. Do not touch them until they are asked for.  Lastly, there is the matter of my favorite painting. I want it delivered to the Ulbrecht Palace as an addition to their art collection, but it must be done on the date of April 24th, in the year of….”_

 

“Gracious,” Tifa whispered. 

“What is the matter?” Lars asked. 

“It will be my birthday in nine days,” Tifa replied. “I had completely forgotten.” 

“You forgot,” he said, exasperated, “Even as Ulbrecht has being preparing for it for the past month? We mentioned it in the last two conferences!” 

Yuffie nudged Tifa on the arm. “Think of this as a birthday present.” 

“Please do,” Vincent chimed in. 

“Very well, thank you,” Lars interrupted. “But we have exactly one-hundred and twelve artworks in the gallery. And that does not include the sculptures. We have no need for one more.” 

“You might change your mind if you saw it,” Vincent replied. “It is quite a masterpiece.” 

Lars held back a scoff and looked at the covered rectangle. 

“A token he ‘captured’ from Dunkelheit, I presume?” Lars asked. 

Vincent grabbed the front of the sheet. “His majesty is very sharp.” 

“What be the subject? Landscape? Building? Mythical creature?” 

“Portrait, your majesty.” The artist curled his lips in an artful smile. Lars nearly lost his kingly composure and was secretly displeased that someone could have such and affect on him. Vincent pulled back the sheet and hung it over the back of the aisle. 

Everyone leaned forward to take a better look. After Vincent uncovered it, the portrait produced an odd sense of brightness in the room. In the background, there was a small table with a majestic vase of flowers. The window curtains were pulled back, letting a white light flood into the picture. The subject sat comfortably in a wingchair. 

As Tifa kept looking, she realized that the subject was a young child, less than a teenager. The portrait cut the child off at the waist. She assumed that it was the progeny of a ridiculously wealthy upper-class family, judging by his posture and clothing. The white skin indicated that it did not work out in the fields. The bright-colored hair and dark eyes made the child appear all the more pallid. 

“What a beautiful girl!” Yuffie commented. 

“No, Yuffie,” Tifa replied. “That is a boy.” 

“I cannot tell either way,” Zack interjected. 

“Observe the Adam’s apple and the sharpness of the eyes,” Lars informed. “And who is child?” 

“Aster Raziel Maverick Fundelstein,” Vincent replied. “Heir apparent ... between the ages of twelve and fourteen.” 

Behind a calm façade, the king of Gelinde was unnerved. Meanwhile, Reno was staring at the face of the painting in shock. Out the corner of her eye, Tifa noticed that he was trembling. He slowly raised a shaky hand to the portrait and began to stammer. 

“What is the matter with you?” Zack asked. 

“I have seen him before!” Reno blurted. “Of course… he was older …but I would never forget a face like that!” 

For a moment, Lars let his placidness faltered slightly in alarm. 

“That cannot be possible,” Vincent countered. “This portrait was painted over 100 years ago.” 

The cat continued to eat and stayed detached from the discussion. The bell sang in a low tone around its neck. 

“If we will come back to the heart of the matter,” the king interrupted, “The painting is excellent, but it just would not fit with our collection…” 

“I like it,” Tifa declared. “I have been in want of another painting in my quarters. May I have the piece?” 

Lars trained his eyes on his daughter in a mixture of dread and astonishment. Tifa widened her eyes and pushed out her lower lip in a pout. He nodded his head in a shaky ‘yes’, and she seized his hand under the table. 

 

 

“Adjust it to the right, please,” Shera commanded. “The painting is a tad crooked.” 

A maid carefully adjusted the painting according to Lady Haslett’s wishes, and the hanging wire cooperated. The king and his daughter watched as the portrait settled right into the room with no trouble.  

“This painting makes my flesh crawl,” Lars declared to his daughter. “Dearest, are you sure?” 

“We cannot give it back now,” Tifa answered back. “Mr. Valentine is gone. How could a portrait give you such feelings?” 

“Have you not noticed the stare in his eyes?” 

Tifa closely studied the painting. Indeed, the boy haunted the canvas with an icy, doll-like countenance that was both intriguing and disturbing. 

“It gives my suite an edge,” Tifa said robustly. 

“An edge is not becoming of a princess,” Shera chided. 

The cat was not far away, sitting on the table near an armchair. Tifa reached out to stroke his chin. 

“What do you think, pussycat?” 

Someone knocked at the door and the king and his princess averted their eyes from the painting. A man stood at the threshold of the living area. Tifa recognized his tanned face and advanced towards him. 

“Veld!” she hailed. “How wonderful to see you! Has it been months?” 

“Unfortunately,” Veld replied gladly, and then with concern, “I heard you had another attack.” 

“I am quite all right now.” 

Tifa gave Veld her hand, and he gently kissed it. 

“Take a look at my new painting,” she commanded. “What say you?” 

Veld turned his head and beheld it for a moment. And then, he peered at the subject and narrowed his eyes. “Interesting choice.” 

Lars cleared his throat to gain some attention. “An artist came here and gave us this painting. His name was Vincent Valentine. I believe, before he left, he mentioned that he was a gentleman of Kiel.” 

Veld looked away from Tifa and let go of her hand. His eyes were narrow and alert. 

“What of it, your grace?” 

“He should be taking a carriage off of the palace grounds right about now. Go after him, if you please.” 

Tifa forgot to breathe as she watched as Veld lower his head in submission. He left the suite quickly without a word. Lars passed his daughter to take his leave and turned to look at her. Her eyes were trained directly on him, with a questioning look on her face. 

In an instant, Lars was tempted to answer his daughter, to tell her what was on his mind. The idea briefly tormented him, but… 

“Say,” he said. “Let us take a stroll through the garden. Father and daughter. The weather has been very ideal, yes?” 

“No, thank you,” Tifa replied. “I have an appointment to keep with Lord Taliesin.” 

She raised her hand towards Shera, beckoning her to come. Shera crossed the other side of the room and locked arms with her. The two women left the room with barely a word. Lars crossed his arms and watched them go. 

“Where is Lady Kisaragi?” Shera inquired. 

“I had her run an errand for me,” Tifa responded. “I told her to catch up with us later.” 

 

 

Vincent knew he was a little absent-minded, as many artists are. Sitting on a bench in a modest part of the palace, he passed the time by doing a lazy sketch on a large pad... and was well aware of how engrossed he was in his work. He could hardly hear the servants running about. 

Nevertheless, he was not fool enough to be oblivious of the person who spied on him. Call it a supernatural quality or slight paranoia... but he knew he was being watched. He decided to be careful from then on. 

Vincent finished the sketch and held it up to give it more lighting. As soon as the page was exposed to the sunshine, it revealed a quick portrait of Hojo. In a brief flash of memory, Vincent had captured and drawn everything he had perceived of the man: 

The arrogant, raised chin. The unpleasant expression on his face. The shifty eyes. The shuffling walk. The hunched posture that appeared outwardly loyal yet inwardly conniving... 

Vincent smirked and released a small but hearty laugh. In his amusement, there was a hint of loathing.  _Poor, little Lucrecia!_  he mused in disgust.  _You foolish woman._  

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly closed the pad, lest his naughtiness be discovered. He looked to the other end of the alley and saw a young girl coming near to him. He observed her more closely and realized that she was the companion of the Princess. 

In light of that, Vincent put his pad away into his satchel bag and stood up to greet her properly. 

“Hello, Miss...” he began, hoping she would finish. 

Yuffie smiled and waved it off. “Lady Kisaragi. No need to be formal with me. I am a mere courtier. Nothing more. Please... sit.” 

Vincent did so with disinclination. Yuffie rose up her skirts and sat down on the other side of the bench. She folded her hands over the skirt of her dress. Vincent rubbed his chin and looked to see if the bloody carriage was coming. There was still no sign of it. 

“I come on behalf of my mistress,” Yuffie said. “She is appalled at how poorly you were received. To ignore your letters for no apparent reason... and to not take pity that it was the dying wish of your dear grandfather... she offers a humble regret.” 

“There is no need for an apology,” he replied. “I am quite used to such treatment... and my arrival was against protocol.” 

“My mistress says that she adores the painting already,” she interrupted. “She wishes that she could be in the position to give you thanks.” 

“On the contrary. If it was not for her desire, I would never have been able to complete my task. The mistreatment was worth it.” 

Vincent searched again for the carriage. Nothing. 

Yuffie shook her head and made a face. 

“Personally,” she retorted, “I find it abominable, and my mistress and I were quite shocked. Letters should be answered and either be accepted or rejected.  _That_  is protocol. An advisor does not have the authority to toss letters away and reject admission to the palace... without the king knowing it. The king should have called him in check on the spot...” 

She paused for a moment and blushed in shame. “Please forget that I said such things. It is not my place to say how the king should deal with his subjects...” 

“But does that not concern you, my lady?” Vincent questioned. 

Yuffie jolted for a moment and replied quickly,” No!” 

Vincent looked her in the eye with a disarming gaze, and Yuffie felt as if she were beginning to shrink. She dug her hands into the cloth of her skirt and closed her eyes. 

“Yes,” she said truthfully. “Yes, it does.” 

“I thank you for your honesty,” he answered, “I feel the same way.” 

At last, when Vincent looked again, the carriage came up to the opening and stopped. The driver got down from his seat. Vincent cleared his throat and stood up from the bench. 

“My ride has come,” he said. “I think it best that I take my leave.” 

“Let me walk with you,” Yuffie insisted. 

As Yuffie started to rise from the bench, Vincent gave her his hand and helped her up. He allowed himself to take a second glance of her and examined her features in a better light. 

This particular courtier, he quickly perceived, was probably not yet sixteen. She was not a particularly beautiful girl either. And yet, she had a cute, satisfying face and a pair of golden eyes that lifted his spirits. Her bright smile charmed him. 

 _Very attractive,_  he realized. 

They rambled, arm in arm, towards the end of the alleyway, where the carriage waited. They both kept their eyes on it without stealing a glimpse of each other. Their shoes clicked on the cobblestones. 

“Are you really the grandson of Grimoire Valentine,” Yuffie inquired. Vincent turned her way to answer her, but she continued, “I have not had the chance to read a copy of his journal… it is hard book to come by in Gelinde…  but I have read many books on the subject. I have read storybooks, novels, and all the like... the kingdom of Dunkelheit has always intrigued my mind. Tell me, which kingdom is right? Gelinde or Kiel?” 

“I beg your pardon, Lady Kisaragi?” Vincent said. 

“Well...” she responded. “I have read texts from both Gelinde and Kiel. On one hand, Gelinde depict the people of Dunkelheit as people who sell their souls to the Devil and practice witchcraft. But in the books of Kiel, they are superior beings, born with a mysterious power. So tell me, which kingdom is correct in their description? Gelinde or Kiel?” 

Vincent laughed. The driver moved to open the door for his passenger but discerned that it was best to wait. 

“You believe that they exist?” Vincent asked her. 

“I would like for them to exist,” Yuffie admitted. “If it were not for my lovely mistress, I would probably think how the world is perfectly boring without them. And beside, do you NOT believe in them yourself, sir?” 

His eyes widened in surprise. “Do you really want to know, my lady?” 

Yuffie nodded ardently. They stopped in front of the carriage, and Vincent signaled the driver to open the carriage door. As it was opened, he tossed his satchel bag into the seat. 

“Actually,” Vincent proclaimed, “They are both wrong.” 

She fixed her eyes on him with the demeanor of a small child. Vincent observed his surroundings with utmost care and leaned to the side to whisper in her ear. His hair brushed against her cheek, and he saw her quiver. 

“And just to inform you,” he said, “They often take offense when you call their homeland ‘Dunkelheit’.” 

He withdrew from her with a grin on his face to see her reaction. Yuffie had her nose pointed to the ground, and her dimples were red. 

 _She is a teenager, no doubt_ , Vincent thought. 

He bowed his head to her and said, “Thank you. I needed the company.” 

Yuffie beamed and curtsied rather clumsily. “The pleasure was all mine, sir.” 

Vincent grabbed the support handle of the carriage and started to get in. From a short distance, a woman cried out, “Mr. Valentine!”, and he jerked his head back. Emerging along the side of the palace, Lucrecia trudged in his direction, her skirts flapping in the breeze, with a black expression on her beautiful face. He halted for a moment to look upon her with surprise. 

From what he could descry, the woman who stomped towards him appeared different from the girl he saw years ago. She seemed more tired, far wearier than before, and her allure, though still enchanting, had lost all of its freshness. The color of her dress, yellow, did not suit her. And he could never have imagined her scowling so harshly before. 

But then, his surprise turned into pure horror and dread. This was a face that he had nearly forgotten... and had hoped never to see again. 

Yuffie watched with similar feeling and turned to him, saying, “That is the Lady Sourpuss. Make like a blind man and pretend you did not see her.” 

“No need to tell me twice.” 

Yuffie caught the outrage in his voice and cocked her head to the side. Vincent shouted for the driver to “hop to it” and leapt nimbly into the compartment. The driver shut the door and climbed back into his seat. Just as he peeped out the window and saw Lucrecia closing in on the carriage, the driver grabbed the reigns and commanded the horse to move.

The wheels began to turn, and Vincent escaped in the nick of time.

  

 

Yuffie moved out of the way as the carriage lurched forward. As the vehicle turned its back on her, she took out her handkerchief and waved it for politeness’ sake. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucrecia came to a standstill beside her and balled her fist. She was quaking with rage. 

“Lady Cassius?” 

“What was  _that man_ doing here?!” Lucrecia fumed. 

“W-w-what is it to you?” Yuffie stammered. 

Lucrecia stood akimbo before her, and Yuffie stiffened. 

“Do not toy with me,” the older courtier snarled. “What was Mr. Valentine doing in the palace?” 

“He had business with the royal family...” Yuffie answered. 

“What business?” Lucrecia asked, her tone darkening. 

Yuffie backed up slightly and put her hand to her heart.  _What on earth is her blessed problem?_  she wondered. 

“He came to deliver a painting,” she said in a shaky voice. “He gave it to the Princess. I came from her suite to thank him on her behalf. That was all there was to it...” 

“You had better not be telling me a half-truth.” 

Yuffie grunted and pushed off her hand, her dignity suddenly affronted. She narrowed her eyes at Lucrecia and replied, “I never met that man in my entire life. Why would I lie for the likes of him? What is it to you?” 

She whipped her body around, showing Lucrecia the back of her head. She marched away, taking a few steps, and spun around to face her again. 

“Perhaps, your corset is pulled too tight, Lady Cassius,” Yuffie mocked. “You should return to your chambers and have the maids loosen it for you!” 

Lucrecia flinched as if she had received a slap. Yuffie pulled up her skirts and broke into a run. 

 

 

After a whole day of wandering around the city, Vincent returned to his lodging, a tall redbrick building that was near the square. Before retiring to his room, he stopped at the casual restaurant for a light supper. 

The restaurant was full of customers, and well-dressed waitresses served him with short words before moving on, no friendliness to speak of. The food promised to be inedible. 

Vincent sat back and drank a glass of Shiraz, the only thing he was enjoying. He could not wait to be back in the country in Kiel, where slow, relaxed life would take the sting out of his bustling, city trip. His eyes strayed from the table. 

On the other side of the establishment, Vincent noticed a lady sitting alone at corner booth. A lady… not to be confused with a normal woman. His presumptions came from the way she chose to dress herself; she wore a dark red dress with a white, lacy collar and cuffs. He paid little attention to her, but from what he did see, she blended into a dim atmosphere. He could not distinguish her face. 

“You ordered a minestrone soup with the wheat baguette, sir?” 

His waitress stood over him, holding the tray with one hand. Vincent nodded blankly, and she put it offhandedly on the table. 

 

 

About an hour later, the door creaked open as he entered his room. The moonlight guided his feet in the dark. 

It was humid inside the room, so Vincent walked quickly towards the glass, French doors in his room and opened them to clear out the air, giving way to the balcony. He looked down from the rail and saw that the city was continuing without him. 

Like he cared... 

Vincent saw seven fresh candles on the counter, courtesy of the staff. He lit them all and set one on the desk and another on the nightstand. Vincent took off his coat and vest to get more comfortable, and hung them against the chair. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out his drawing book and sketching pencils. 

Then, he set to work. Guided by candlelight and the moon and controlled by some spontaneous force, his left hand drew rough strokes onto the paper. He concentrated hard, fleshing out the subject more and more with each passing minute. Skillfully... carefully... 

“Are you drawing me again?” a quiet voice asked. 

The sudden, unpredictable noise surprised him. He nearly fell out of his chair trying to turn around. 

A young lady sat on the balcony rail, watching his every move. Her body was wrapped in a black coat. Underneath, Vincent noticed her red dress and the blue stone twinkling in the middle of her ruffled collar.

“Your majesty?” Vincent whispered and coughed in embarrassment. 

“Hello, Vincent,” she replied. “I trust the painting is now in her possession...” 

“Did you just come through the Vermengte?” he asked. “I could not sense your presence at all.” 

“One must be careful,” she explained. 

Her voice was monotone but pleasant, barely rising above a whisper. She gave him a wide smile that utterly shocked him. She slid off the balcony rail and welcomed herself in. 

“You never answered my question,” she said. “Are you drawing me again?” 

“Yes,” Vincent answered (still reeling). 

The lady exhaled and walked deeper into the room, her dress swaying at each step. She brushed past him, and he smelled her potent fragrance, a scent he had not smelled in a long time. She came to his desk, grabbed his drawing book, and examined it. 

“You are an excellent artist,” she whispered. “And you capture me so well… I  _like_  it when you draw me...” 

“I had no idea that you would come here yourself. Why?” 

She started flipping the pages of the drawing book, to see his other works. She sat down on the chair. 

“What are you planning?” Vincent asked anxiously. 

Her head turned slowly, and she stared deeply into his eyes. Her still, phlegmatic face pulled him in and terrified him at the same time, as it had many years ago. The girl half-closed her eyes and leaned back. 

“Oh... many things,” she murmured gloriously. “Everything is changing.” 

Suddenly, her placid features broke again, and she chuckled. Vincent took a few steps back, and the pupils of his eyes shrinking in aghast. The lady stood up and put the drawing book back on the desk. 

“What is wrong?” she asked. 

“You have been laughing more often,” he replied. 

“What of it?” 

“You are smiling more too. Once you could barely do such things…” 

Her face grew still again and tossed her golden ringlets behind her shoulders. 

“Like I said,” she stated, “Everything is changing.” 

The lady reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a golden bell attached to a blue ribbon. Vincent recognized it and shivered. 

“What kind of game are you playing this time?” he cried in contempt. “You cannot treat her as you have other people. She is but a child… with a very delicate health, I might add.” 

“I would never harm her.” 

Vincent was not convinced. The lady shook her head. She put the bell around her neck and reached for something in another pocket. She pulled out a train ticket and handed it to him. 

“This is ticket to Kiel,” Vincent said. “The train leaves... at midnight?” 

“Pack up and be on it,” she commanded. “After you go back to your estate in Kiel, wait for a day. The king will send you a letter, asking you to return to Ulbrecht.” 

“Why would he want such a thing?” 

The lady ignored the question. “When you come back to Gelinde, you must be very careful with your life. The kingdom of Gelinde is about to become a dangerous place.” 

Vincent snorted and retrieved his tools. He opened the drawers wide and snatched his things out. 

“Are  ** _they_**  coming?” he inquired. “Are they actually coming  _here_... to the other side? Is the city of Royals to become a battleground?” 

The lady paused. “Not necessarily... but there will lots of blood!” 

Vincent recoiled, and she bawled, “Let them come! It is another chance to wipe out the devils. May they all rot in hell!” 

“You are a real piece of work,” Vincent cursed. “What if Jenova shows herself?” 

The young lady went silent and bit her full lips. Vincent shook his head and gathered his clothes. 

“It is now almost ten,” she declared. “I suggest you hurry.” 

“What of Jenova?” 

“The game starts the day after tomorrow,” she warned. “I return seven days after.” 

“That is the day of  ** _her_**  birthday.” 

“You were paying attention.” 

“I was… but what of Jenova?” 

Her face broke for the last time, and she glared wildly at him. She jumped backwards, rising upward in an unnatural float, and landed on the baluster. 

“I do not want to hear that name,” she snapped. 

Vincent veered his head away, troubled and confused. When he turned back to see her, the balcony was empty. He walked up to the rail and looked down, but all he saw was a random man walking down the street. 

 

 

Meanwhile, Veld had watched from his hiding spot and seen everything. For a moment, time stood still, and he stared at the rail... dumbfounded. He had seen that lady, all right. That strange lady on the balcony. And dressed in such finery… 

And she had disappeared into thin air before his eyes. Like a phantom... 

Veld pulled out his pocket watch and read the time (now ten o’clock) before leaving. He was going back to the palace immediately. The king would want to here about this. 


	4. III: The strangers among us

Tifa heard a bell in distance and stirred wake. That meant that it was morning now. With her eyes shut tight, she stretched her body and sighed. It was time to start another day. But when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her bed.

There was a bone-chilling stillness in the air, almost as if the world was dead. She knew something was supporting her, but she sensed nothing underneath her body. All she could feel was the beating of her heart and the breath on her lips.

When Tifa sat up, she seemed to be lying down in some grass. She looked up and saw a large oak tree with a white trunk and dark leaves. She looked beyond and saw a sea, familiar to one in the city of Royals. The sky was dark blue, and the water was deep red. There was a distinctive building behind her.

Tifa stood up abruptly, and her body shook in fright. Where on earth was she? Why was she here? How did she come to be here?

She approached the edge of the sea and stooped down. Perhaps, the sea was cold, she thought, and perhaps, if she splashed the water into her face, she would wake up and find that this was all a dream. She reached down and dipped her hand in. She still felt nothing. Tifa withdrew her hand from the water, and it dripped off. But it left an evil stain on her fingers and stuck onto her hands.

This was not water. This was blood!

Tifa shrieked and fell backwards. She scrambled away from the edge and tried to stand on her shaky legs. She stumbled onto the ground in her first attempts, and all the while, she frantically wiped her hand on the grass. Tifa looked upon the sea again, and bile threatened her mouth.

She ran. She turned on her heels and ran towards the building. It was the only thing she could think of.

As she came closer, Tifa saw that the building was a church…and she had seen it before. It looked exactly like the Cathedral of Gelinde. Even the doors were carved with the same elaborate design.

But for now, all she cared about was escaping. Tifa ran up to the doors and clutched the handle, but it would not budge. The doors were locked. She banged against them with her fists but could not feel the door with her knuckles.

"Let me in!" she screamed. "Oh, please! Let me in!"

No one answered, but she did not give up. She beat harder onto the doors, and suddenly, they flew upon. She stumbled inside and onto the marble floor. Tifa straightened her wobbly legs, and her eyes darted around.

The poor cathedral was rotting. Rats scampered from holes, worn through by time and neglect. Pieces of the marble floor jutted upwards, and putrid insects slithered from underneath. The benches were deprived of their legs or completely broken. Cobwebs were strung along the corners and ceiling. Most of the left wall had withered away, and a wind seeped inside with a portentous wail.

Tifa grimaced in disgust. This hateful looking place could not possibly be the Cathedral of Gelinde. Could it?

She ventured further into the building and went past the benches. She entered the hall, which lead deeper into the cathedral and stopped.

To her astonishment, many of the pillars were half missing. One pillar would be missing its top half, and another would be lacking its bottom. Some pillars lacked middle… and even more alarming… others missed the bottom and the top, but the middle remained suspended in the air! What kind of force was holding it up?

Suddenly, a voice began to echo throughout the cathedral.

"The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses' seat!" it proclaimed. "Therefore whatever they tell you to observe and do,  _that_  deserve and do, but do not do according to their works; for they say, and do not do."

The voice was coming from the end of the hall. Tifa walked towards it and tripped on a broken piece of marble. She recovered herself and kept to her goal.

"For they bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of men," the voice mocked, "But they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers! But all their works they do are seen by men. They make their phylacteries broad and enlarge the borders of their garments. They love the best places at feasts, the best seats in the synagogues, greetings in the marketplaces, and to be called by men, 'Rabbi, Rabbi'! "

The tone sent shivers down her spine. Tifa wondered why she was going toward it… when she was so terrified. The voice was... so irate.

"But you, do not be called 'Rabbi'," it continued, in a calmer tone, "For One is your Teacher, the Christ, and you are all brethren. Do not call anyone on earth your Father; for One is your Father, He who lives in heaven. And do not be called teachers; for One is your Teacher, the Christ. But he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted."

A light appeared at the end of hall, and she saw a door. Someone had lit some lanterns beside it. Someone was waiting for her.

Tifa flinched but did not stop.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" it condemned. "For you shut up the kingdom of heaven against men; for you neither go in yourselves, nor do you allow those who are entering to go in."

Tifa quivered with longing. Fear bubbled up inside her, and yet she could not prevent herself from going forward. She felt drawn towards this voice, and her heart desired to find the source of it. She stumbled again, but when she recovered, she walked faster. When she reached the middle of the hall, she realized that the speaker was a man.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" he continued, "For you devour widows' houses, and for pretense make long prayers. Therefore, you will receive greater condemnation. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel land and sea to win one proselyte, and when you have won him, you make him twice as much a son of hell as yourselves!"

Her heart thumbed in her chest. The door seemed so far away, and Tifa realized that her feet were getting sore. And still, she could not feel the ground under her.

"Woe to you, blind guides," the man berated, "Who say, 'Whoever swears by the temple, it is nothing; but whoever swears by the gold of the temple, he is obliged to perform it.' Fools and blind! For which is greater, the gold or the temple that sanctifies the gold?"

But she had to get to this person! She just had to! But why? And what for? Who was this man?

"And 'Whoever swears by the altar, it is nothing, but whoever swears by the gift that is on it, he is obliged to perform it.' Fools and blind! For which is greater, the gift or the altar that sanctifies the gift?"

The voice lowered and settled into a quieter tone again. Tifa relaxed a little, but her pace did not falter. She was getting there.

"Therefore, he who swears by the temple, swears by it and by all things on it. He who swears by the temple, swears by it and by Him who dwells in it. And he who swears by heaven, swears by the throne of God and by Him who sits on it."

And then the voice rose again in frustration and anger. "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you pay tithe of mint, anise, and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law; justice, mercy, and faith! These you ought to have done, without leaving the others undone. Blind guides, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!"

Tifa shuddered in terror, but she kept going. Why was this person saying these things? And where had she heard these words from before?

"Why?" she whispered silently. "Why can human eyes see candlelight at such a great distance?"

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" he cried. "For you cleanse the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of extortion and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee, first cleanse the inside of the cup and dish, that the outside of them may be clean also!"

Tifa stopped at the end. The lanterns stood at each side of the door. Her shaky hand reached for the doorknob, and she pulled turned it. She yanked the door open and slipped through the threshold.

The room she entered appeared to be a library. She looked everywhere and saw thousands upon thousands of small candles, standing on their holders on the floor. They were positioned in such a way it shaped a fixed path inside the library. But she saw no one.

Tifa almost cried out in frustration.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" the voice started up again. "For you are like whitewashed tombs which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but inside are full of the bones of dead men and all uncleanness! Even so you also outwardly appear righteous to men, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness!"

As Tifa walked along, the room became larger and increasingly complex, with many twists and turns along the halls. Something pulled at her, guiding her.

She came to a railing and poked her head down below. Another level of the room was beneath her. In the middle of the space, she saw the back of a large wing chair. She squinted her eyes and it seemed that someone was sitting in it.

Tifa gasped in relief and hope and went onward. A flight of stairs was before her.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" the voice muttered in disgust. "Because you build the tombs of the prophets and adorn monuments of the righteous, and say 'If we had lived in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets. Therefore you are witnesses against yourselves that you are the sons of those who murdered the prophets!"

She reached the bottom of the steps and practically sprinted towards the chair. As she got closer, Tifa became certain that someone indeed was sitting there; she saw the corner of a dress. She circled the chair, her heart thumping in her stomach, and stopped.

Her eyes met the face of a sleeping young woman.

Tifa approached slowly and leaned over the woman, taking in her appearance. Her lithe frame, wrapped safely in a black nightgown, appeared to be almost propped like an inanimate object against the chair. Her blonde hair spilled and cascaded past her shoulders. Her hands were folded on her lap, and a platinum gold cross pendant was wedged between her fingers. A blue ribbon was tied around her neck… with a bell hanging from it!

Tifa let out a squeak and clasped the bell in her hands. The woman did not move.

"That belongs to my cat!" she gasped. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

The voice echoed through the room with an amused chuckle. Tifa looked desperately for the source, but no one else was in there.

"Fill up, then, the measure of your father' guilt," he said menacingly. "Serpents, brood of vipers! How can you escape the condemnation of hell? Therefore, indeed, I send you prophets, wise men, and scribes: some of them you will kill and crucify, and some of them you will scourge in your synagogues and persecute from city to city..."

The girl suddenly began to mumble something. Tifa scowled and looked down to see her face. Her eyes were still closed, and she appeared to be talking her sleep. Tifa leaned closer to hear her and realized that she was repeating everything the voice said.

And the scent that came off of her... it smelled familiar... so familiar...

"... that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah, son of Berechiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar! Assuredly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation!"

And the girl opened her eyes.

 

 

Tifa woke up with a start and sat up in her bed. She was in her room again.

The sea of blood was gone. The dilapidated cathedral was gone. The candles were gone. The longing was gone. The girl was gone. But most of all, that voice was gone.

With heavy breaths, Tifa climbed wearily out of bed and went into her closet to brush her hair, as usual. As soon as she came to the door of her closet, something brushed at her ankles. She stifled a cry.

The cat scrambled back and hissed. Tifa looked down at the feline, and he looked up at her. For the first time, he showed a bit of concern, and his whiskers hung down. Tifa stooped down to pick him up.

"Sorry," she said. "Tifa had a nightmare just now."

She held the cat in her arms and scratched behind his ears. The feline pressed against her in sympathy. Tifa abandoned her morning routine and strolled towards balcony. She looked out and saw that the gardeners were decorating the grounds for her birthday. They hung ribbons on the tress, ribbons that were in favorite colors: red, gold, and white.

"Can you eat birthday cake?" Tifa asked.

The cat cocked his head to the side. "Mrrow?"

"I am to be eighteen next week," Tifa declared. "After that, Father will try to marry me off… many a courtier will be there…"

The animal hissed. He closed its blue eyes and turned his nose up high. For a cat, he was remarkably human.

"If I ever marry," Tifa confessed, "Which is most likely, I would rather have a king. The Prince of Kiel is nice, but..."

The cat opened his eyes again and blinked in wonder. Tifa let herself sway around and went into a dreamlike trance.

"If I ever had a king, I would have to learn to be a queen," Tifa considered. "Though I am afraid that no one has taught me to be one. Perhaps, I am over my head…"

Tifa heard a hiss of disagreement. She made eye contact with her pet feline, and his eyes seemed to shine with confidence. Come to think of it, his eyes did have an uncanny luminescence. She peered further into his eyes... just to make sure it was real. And to smell his sweet scent again...

Yuffie knocked on the door, and Tifa commanded her to enter. As usual, she carried a mug of the "delightful" tisane.

"Do not pour it out this time," Yuffie warned.

Tifa frowned and put the cat down. He trotted over to the bed and leapt up to sit on the corner. Yuffie handed it to her mistress, who braced herself for the awful blow.

But when she tasted it, the tisane was  **not**  the same she was used to. Instead of tasting bitter, grass-like liquid, she found it to be tart and sweet, with apricots and peaches. She proceeded to guzzle it down.

"Blimey!" Yuffie cried. "I thought you hated the stuff. Lost your sense of taste, have you?"

"Most likely," Tifa replied. She finished the last bit and gave back the mug.

"Would it please you to hear some gossip?" Yuffie asked.

Tifa shrugged and nodded. Yuffie lead her mistress towards the closet and sat her at the vanity.

"It is about your brother. I just heard it from the maids."

Yuffie took the brush and cared for her mistress' hair. Tifa relaxed in her small hands and let her dream slip into the back of her mind.

"It includes Lady Scarlet Napier," Yuffie revealed.

"The keeper of the maids," Tifa answered in delight. "This must be good."

"She is currently having an affair with your brother, the prince."

Tifa became silent. Yuffie tugged at a knot in her and gently unraveled it.

"Ha!" Tifa cried, and then muttered sarcastically, "How surprising!"

"You knew of it?" Yuffie asked.

"Nay, but I am not surprised. They go rather well together… but Father would go into conniptions…"

Yuffie envied the long, black hair in her hands. There were a few more and tangles and knots, but it was soft, sleek…and manageable.

"It will not last," Yuffie insisted. "Rufus would not stay too long with her. She is… she is so harsh!"

"Scarlet is not harsh," Tifa argued. "She is aggressively  _assertive_. Rufus adores that in a woman. Reminds him of his mother… the first queen. God rest her soul. Besides, Scarlet can be sweet… if you rub her the right way."

"I would rather rub your lovely locks," Yuffie scoffed.

Someone else came knocking at the door. Yuffie raised her voice, without shouting, and told them to come in. The voices of several maids permeated into the bedroom, and Tifa could hear the sound of buckets of hot water clanking as the maids headed into the bathing room.

Yuffie worked faster with her hair and began to arrange it into a plaited bun. It was time for the morning bath.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Tifa was leaning against the marbled edge of her very large bathing tub and found herself enjoying the peace and solitude of her bathroom. She took in a deep breath and exhaled, letting her body relax even further. The edge of her bangs clung to her forehead in sweat. Tifa shifted onto the left side of her body and leaned against the curve of the tub. She craned her head slightly and looked at an odd, star-shaped birthmark that was located just above of her hip. Her lucky star.

In the background, a few maids were waiting on her patiently. Two of them sat nearby on a cushioned bench; one had some towels on her lap, and the other was holding a wooden box. Another maid stood by the door.

"What perfume would you like to wear today?" one of them asked. "Would you like to try something different today."

"Something fruity," Tifa blurted.

"Fruity?"

Tifa nodded firmly and splashed some water on her arm. The maids looked at each other and smiled.

"We have just the thing for that."

Yuffie walked briskly into the bathroom with a foul mien on her face. She stopped a few yards from the bathtub and put her hands on her hip.

"Lady Napier informs me," Yuffie said (with superficial sweetness), "That the floor must be shiny enough for her to see her  _very_  reflection. Please clean it more thoroughly."

The maids coughed and continued with their current, more important task. Tifa chuckled. Scarlet sauntered into the bathing room and patted Yuffie on the back. Yuffie gave out a low squeak.

"Very funny," Scarlet said to her. "I am roaring with laughter."

"Scarlet, is there something you need to tell me?" Tifa asked. "This  **is**  my bath time, after all."

"I have good news and bad news," she replied.

"Fire away."

Scarlet swallowed her breath.

"The good news," she started, "Is that you have been given a new dress for the culmination of your birthday celebration."

Tifa smiled in delight. "Splendid! So... what is the bad news?"

"Your father chose it for you."

 

 

Scarlet brought out the ball gown from the closet and into the bedroom, and everyone stared with her mouth wide open. The cat took one look at the monstrosity, and in another rare bout of emotion, he snarled and hid underneath the bed. Tifa was mortified.

If the dress had been gold instead of orange-yellow, she may have felt better. The dress had bubble-like short sleeves with lace at the ends. The front was cut just below the shoulder blade with more lace along the edge. A small, white bow was sewn on the chest. The skirt was like a tulip blossom. A larger, gaudier bow was fastened at the back.

"What on earth is that?" Tifa screeched.

"I believe it is a dress," one of the maids replied (with uncertainty).

"My father would never put me through such torture," Yuffie said dryly. "Even though he despises me so..."

Tifa rubbed her forehead and tried not to panic. She tightened the belt on her robe.

"I have a solution," Scarlet offered. "At the last minute, we will tell his majesty that the dress got a bad tear in it. Let us find something else."

"And if he sees through the ruse?" Tifa questioned. "What if we cannot find another …suitable one?

"Then you, my princess, are royally finished."

 

 

For spring, it was rather cold that day, but Zack was glad to at least have found some time to himself. He watched the gardeners and servants as scurried about, sweeping the paths, arranging furniture, and the grounds of Ulbrecht. The atmosphere was frantic.

After all, the eighteenth birthday of a princess was a very big deal.

Zack reached the southwest section of the garden and slowed down his pace. In the corner of his eye, he saw a group of gardeners quickly gathering around the trees. He stopped for a moment to acknowledge them.

Perhaps, he pondered, that they had discovered some dangerous weed or a dead animal.

He decided not to pay attention at first, but as he ventured away, some of the workers cried out in sickened alarm. Others whispered amongst themselves.

His concern peaked, Zack stepped off the garden path and walked towards the crowd. He gained the attention of an older man in the group.

"What is the fuss?" Zack inquired. "Has something happened?"

"A dead man, my lord," the worker replied.

The Prince of Kiel went pale and tore through the crowd, commanding them get out of his way.

In the midst of it, a man lay prostrate on the ground. To his astonishment, Reno was sitting on the ground by a mere few inches from the corpse. His whole body was shaking. Zack knelt down and tapped his companion on the shoulder. Reno turned with a start, and Zack saw that he was covered in blood.

"I… I was… I was just w-walking right underneath him," Reno stammered quietly. "I was just taking a walk. He… was hanging ribbons with his partner, I guess…"

Zack grabbed the body by the arm and turned it over. The whole torso of the body was bloodied, with a deep gash running along the abdomen and all the way to the left shoulder blade. Blood was still flowing out of the wound. The face of this hapless worker was fixed in an expression of shock, as if he had seemed something remarkable.

The gardeners backed away in terror.

Zack rolled the body back on its stomach and grimly clenched his teeth.

"Get the guards," he commanded. "Inform his highness at once."

Many of the workers rushed away in a frenzy. Reno crawled a few feet away from his master and started retching in the grass. His nails scratched into the dirt.

"My God," Reno whispered in a choked voice. "He was right. They… What will become of me?"

Zack stood up and touched Reno on the back. He shuddered.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Zack snapped. "What is the matter with you? Have we not seen a corpse before?"

"I…"

Zack grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet. "Come on. Get some blood into your brain. Otherwise, you shall catch a faint!"

"I saw a man darting in the trees!" he blurted out. "A man in dressed black… with strange silver hair. I only saw 'em for an instant… and I then, I heard that man tell me 'Watch out!' He hopped down from the ladder and ran right in front of me. And then, I heard it... he was slashed a good one."

And then Reno began to laugh hysterically. Zack went cold all over and gave his companion a rousing slap in the face. Reno felt a terrible tremor go through him, and he stopped dead. He was suddenly at the point of near collapse. With great strength and even more care, Zack half dragged him away from the scene.

"Come on now!" Zack pleaded. "Pick up your feet. You  **are**  all right, are you not?"

Reno did not hear him.

"I thought it was only a dream," he said placidly. "I was so sure that it was all just a dream."

 

 

Tifa leaned back in her armchair and started to dose off. Her pet feline was purring in her arms. His eyes were closed. The sun was shining on them from the window, letting some warmth into the room.

With excellent embroidery work in her hands, Shera watched over the Princess and hummed a light tune. Yuffie was busy preparing the table for her mistress' tea time; she had bought a vase of fresh camellias and was smoothing out wrinkles in the table cloth.

But a silver streak flashed by the window, and the cat jerked his head up in alarm. A moment later, the barn owl flew past in the same direction and glided in a curve towards the trees. It perched itself on a branch and hooted, flapping its wings and causing further commotion outside. The cat hissed loudly, and Tifa came out of her stupor. The peace was broken.

Tifa reached down and tried to comfort him.

"There, there, puss," she murmured softly. "Is something wrong?"

The cat hissed again and wagged its tail. Tifa got a small lump in her throat. Her pet feline had never acted like this before.

Someone knocked on the door of the living area, and Tifa beckoned them enter. Three maids came in, one carrying a tray of tisane and biscuits. Another maid carried candles, and the third went to the windows and closed the curtains up.

"What  **are**  you doing?" Tifa asked.

"His majesty has ordered that you stay away from all windows," one of them answered. "We will be staying with you in this suite tonight."

While her tisane was being served, Tifa watched as the other two lit the candles around the room. They all kept clearing their throats.

Something, Tifa decided, was not right.

 

 

As the day rolled in mid-afternoon, the Princess was not amused. Ever since those maids had barged into her living area, she had not been left alone, not it even for a moment.

Now yes, she was a member of the royal family, and granted, that meant that private life was a distant myth... but her current condition was utterly ridiculous!

Right, a princess must be served and should not lift a finger to pour her own drink, but standing near her and watching her take every sip or nibble every biscuit was grossly overdoing things. And sure, a princess would always be watched as she took a trip to the bathroom, but that did  **not** mean that she had to be followed right to the door too. And aside from that, no one bothered to tell her why she was being treated in such a way. She at least deserved  _that_  piece of information, did she not?

Finally, the suite grew to be so horrid, with so many people running about, that Tifa demanded that Yuffie take her for a walk. But not before one of the maids fetched Lucrecia to accompany them. And then being instructed only to stay within the halls, where the guards were sure to be.

The Princess would be having a long talk with the King tomorrow.

And so, there Tifa was, strolling with her companion through the halls of Ulbrecht. The cat ambled diligently beside her. Lucrecia, along with some courtiers, were trailing a few yards behind them.

"Yuffie," Tifa said discreetly, "Is there something you have failed to mention to me?"

"No, Princess," Yuffie replied honestly. "I am wholly at a loss myself."

"So, you have no idea as to why everyone is making such a fuss over me?"

Yuffie lowered her eyes sheepishly and shook her head. Tifa turned her neck slightly and glanced at her stalkers. Shera and the courtiers were busy chattering, but Lucrecia was watching like a preying hawk.

"This is damnable," groused Yuffie.

"I was being to suspect that," answered Tifa.

As they neared a turn at the hall, a group of maidservants came in the vicinity of them. Tifa stopped with Yuffie as they passed, and they genuflected with their heads low. She looked closely at their faces as they scurried off; their eyes revealed some kind of anxiousness.

"If I knew no better," Tifa said, "I would say that something rots in the kingdom of Gelinde."

Yuffie gave her a startled look. Tifa stared back with a grave expression and drew close.

"Something is amiss," Tifa whispered, "I am certain. My father has been acting strangely ever since that painter showed up with the portrait..."

"Mr. Valentine?" Yuffie squeaked, blushing.

The girls looked back again. Their unwanted posse was still there.

They made the turn and entered another part of the hall. Up ahead, Tifa saw a figure slowly coming their way. She squinted and saw that it was the Prince of Kiel, striding towards her with purpose.

 _Relief at last!_  she hoped.

"My lady Princess!" Zack called. "I am most glad to see you!"

Tifa raised the front of her polonaise and hurried to him. Yuffie quickly got the gist and slowed down her pace to give them some room. Tifa reached him and curtsied.

"Believe me," she answered, "I am the gladder! Take a walk with me?"

Zack offered his arm, but to his disappointment, Tifa only stayed near him at the length of an arm. In the distance, Lucrecia, Shera and the other courtiers slowed down, putting far more distance between them and the princess. Yuffie served as the middle pointed. Her pet feline remained ever close to her feet. Tifa grinned in victory.

"How good of you to arrive when you did," she thanked him. "You have cheered up an afternoon that would have been nothing but tiresome and vexing."

"I am elated to be of service," he replied.

Tifa examined his face. His smile was genuine. His face was glowing and amicable. His posture was confident and sure. But his eyes were tense and shifty.

 _Goldmine,_ Tifa thought.

"Where is Lord Baldemar?" she asked. "Is he not usually at your side?"

"I am afraid that he is unwell at the moment," Zack replied. "He has a bit of a headache."

"Too bad… and it is an unnaturally cool day. Do you not agree, my prince?"

"Aye," he assented. "Very cool indeed."

"Not a good atmosphere either."

"I beg your pardon?"

Tifa shrugged, pretending to be clueless (though that was not a complete lie). She combed her hair back, accidentally exposing the back of her neck. Zack leered, and his ears grew hot.

"My maids have been terribly persnickety," she mused. "They have yet to give me a moment of peace this afternoon."

"I am grieved to hear that," Zack murmured sincerely.

Tifa folded her hands behind her, letting them get buried into the skirt of her dress.

She looked up and caught sight of three courtiers, a gaunt figure of a man, a childish looking but graceful lady who held a black lace fan near her lips, and an old, stout gentleman with a long beard. They were sashaying from the other end of the hall. From what Tifa could see, this particular group was busy in their own conversation and appeared not to notice her.

And yet, as soon as she and the Prince of Kiel drew close, the courtiers stopped and paid their respects. Tifa scrutinized their faces... the men seemed uneasy and excited, but the woman kept very normal expression.

The Princess and the Prince waited until they went on their way and resumed the conversation.

"Who was that?" Zack asked.

"Who?" Tifa replied.

"That lady courtier," he said. "I recognized Lord Carvell and Lord Ansel… but I have never seen her."

Tifa gave him a curious look. "Oh, her? That is the Lady Ravenel. She is a member of the council."

Zack laughed heartily. "That is quite a surprise! The council? She looked a bit too young for such a thing."

Tifa nodded in agreement. And she deduced that he might be off his guard. So, she struck.

"Everywhere I look," she said, "The courtiers... my maids... the servants. They are as jumpy as chickens in a coop."

"Have you ever seen chickens in a coop?" Zack asked with a curious brow.

"I read very often, but that is beside the point. I am concerned."

"Concerned?"

Tifa listened to his voice and thought that he almost sounded frankly ignorant. Almost.

"Has any untoward happened in Ulbrecht... as of late?"

Zack stared at her very hard, his eyes drilling into her. A red flag waved in her head.

"What would make you think such an idea, Princess?"

"I was just wondering, " Tifa replied innocently. "I thought, if something had happened, I had the right to know."

The Prince continued to glare at her for a short while, making her uncomfortable. He collected himself, relaxed, and smiled again. "Well, rest easy. I have not heard anything unpleasant... as of late."

Tifa forced herself to smile and sang, "That makes me feel better." But in her mind, she replied,  _You liar._

Zack offered his arm again. Tifa gave in and wrapped her hand around it. She looked back at her companion to see how she was faring. Yuffie was currently pretending to be absentminded.

"I fear that we have not seen much of each other since my arrival," Zack recalled. "I wish that it could have played out more differently."

He narrowed his eyes and smirked kittenishly at her. Tifa flushed and turned her head down.

"I know," she said. "My ailment interfered. I am well now."

"How fortunate."

From below, the cat began to mew very loudly, wanting to be recognized. Tifa let go of the Prince's arm and stooped down to tend to him. The feline became quiet.

"What is the matter, grimalkin?" Tifa asked. "Are you upset too?"

"Meow," he replied solemnly.

She reached for her pet and scooped him up in her arms. The cat was mollified and started to purr. The promenade began anew, but Zack looked irritably upon the feline.

"Come to think of it," Tifa pondered, "My furry confidante has been behaving oddly too. Is that not so, darling?"

The cat closed his eyes and yawned. Zack nodded resignedly and went to scratch it behind the ears.

"Well, I hear that cats can be temperamental," he pointed out.

The feline opened his eyes and hissed belligerently. Zack retracted his hand to safety.

 

 

A few hours later, Lars called an emergency meeting with the council and saw fit that it be held deep in the library. They were all on time.

Advisor Hojo rested his hand on the desk in royal library; his expression was cold and severe. Lord Heidegger Ansel posed by the window, which overlooked the sea, and folded his hands in a very proper manner. In the middle of the room, Lady Cissnei Ravenel sat in an armchair and gave herself air with a black laced fan. Lastly, Lord Dyne Carvell stood poised near a pair of French doors. It was closed and locked.

"What disturbs me most," Lars confessed, pacing back and forth in front of his desk, "Is that the murder occurred in the Southwest parts of Ulbrecht Palace. The princess, my daughter, resides in the South wing. And while all of this is going on..."

"Perhaps," Heidegger suggested, "This was only a nasty coincidence…"

"I do not like coincidences," Lars snapped. "Especially when they are  **not** coincidences… Lady Ravenel, how is the witness?"

"He is a very shaken," she said. "The Prince of Kiel has requested that we not try to question him immediately..."

Her voice trailed off in disinterest. Lars wandered over to regal chair that was close to Cissnei and let himself rest in his chair. Hojo ventured closer.

"Perhaps I should have my daughter moved to a different wing," Lars thought aloud. "I was meaning to do so after her birthday… but it would make me feel better if she were far away from the scene."

"Shall we move her tomorrow then?" Hojo asked.

Lars nodded affirmatively and ran his fingers over the receding lines of his hair.

"And what of… the  **other**  problem?" Dyne spoke in the background.

The room paused in silence. From his solitary spot, Heidegger began to twiddle his thumbs. Cissnei folded her fan and held it in her fist.

"Because if Veld has truly seen a high ranking person from Over There," he continued, "Then we must take action…"

"We should have done something when the rumors came up!" Cissnei snapped, striking her lap with the fan. "We should never have ignored them. And now that Veld has confirmed their validity, these "people" have probably infested the city. Granted, the authorities have found a handful of these people wandering about from time to time… but this unusual influx has come out of nowhere…"

"And it is more perilous than the last we had to deal with them," Hojo mused. "A thousand years ago, our ancestors barely managed to drive them out. From then on, they merely dealt with a minority of these… disreputable beings… but by now, they have become a potent culture… or more specifically, a kingdom of its own. For all we know, there could hundreds of them in the city."

Lars let out a weary groan and covered his forehead. He was perspiring.

"But why now?" Lars asked. "Why after all this time? What do they want here?"

From the window, Heidegger cleared his throat and finally spoke.

"Revenge, perhaps?" he suggested. "If that be so, I cannot imagine how terrible that would be. After all, they are known for their longevity. Our forefathers could very well have killed and displaced their close relatives."

"Of course, our forefathers would do that!" Lars answered. "Those people were and still are the bane of our society. Demonic creatures…"

But Cissnei chuckled and rejoined, "Well, I would be irate too if someone burned  _my_  relative at the stake... or forced them to become a gypsy."

"Especially if I felt it were unjustified," Dyne added quietly.

"That is beside the point," Hojo interrupted. "We cannot know for sure if that is the real cause of their appearance."

The room became quiet again. Cissnei opened her fan once more and brushed it against her nose. Lars got up from the regal chair and resumed pacing in front of his desk.

"May I recommend that we call on Father Kisaragi?" Dyne proposed. "This is a serious matter after all. With his spiritual guidance, we may receive a better understanding of the situation."

Lars froze and gave him a startled look. A smile slowly crept on his face, and his eyes widened in revelation.

"That is a good judgment," he replied. "Of course… Kisaragi. If he cannot give us any answers, no one can."

 

 

Even when night fell on Royals, nothing calmed down. By the time the sun had set, people outside of the palace walls had heard of the incident. Every tree was rustling, and every shutter was shaking. The moon appeared to shine brighter than ever.

No one was in peace. No one was at rest.

In the darkness of eleven o'clock, Zack took another walk in solitude. Every time he took a step, the sound boomed even louder than usual. He listened to the subtle noises of the night and perked up his ears for anything. He supposed it was only the tension of the day that kept him so unusually vigilant and on edge, judging that he thought well to have a sword hidden under his coat.

Soon, he came to the north parts of the palace and saw a sea in the distance. A rail was built in there, separating the palace grounds from the grassy land. Far on the other side of this sea, the revered Cathedral of Gelinde would have been standing on the other side. Zack grasped the bars of the iron enclosure and looked past them. His eyes were pulled towards the horizon.

 

 

" _Reno, why can you not speak with me," Zack asked for the umpteenth time. "You know you can always do that."_

_Reno sat on his bed and made no attempt to reply. He just stared at the mirror in front of him. His facade was stiff and melancholy, a polar antithesis to his usually cheery and devil-may-care personality. Zack did not like it at all._

" _Do not think," Zack went on, "That I did not listen to a word you said. That gardener was not the one this killer intended to harm. Is someone after your life?"_

_He pressed on and sat next to him on the bed. Reno sighed and closed his eyes, hardly responding to the sudden bounce._

" _I cannot help you, my friend," he chided. "I cannot help you if you keep refusing to tell me what is wrong. I can protect you."_

_Reno shook his head. "No…" he answered. "No, you cannot. Not from them."_

_Zack hitched his breath in surprise. Reno got up, slowly, and wobbled towards the mirror. On the counter below it, there was a small water bowl and a towel. He splashed some of lukewarm water on his face and snorted._

" _Who is_ _ **them**_ _?" Zack questioned._

_Reno dried his face and some loose hairs that got wet. He folded the damp towel and hung it against the bowl._

" _I…" he hesitated. "I cannot even begin to guess."_

 

 

"Quite a night, is it not?"

Zack blenched at the abrupt noise. He swerved to the side and saw that a man had appeared next to him... a man who, up to a moment ago, had not been there.

He felt for the hilt of his sword and braced himself. The intruder did not face him and stared blankly into the abyss, with his hands on the rail.

Zack examined the man briefly and saw that he was dressed like an aristocrat.

 _Odd_ , Zack thought.

"Who are you, trespasser?" Zack asked fiercely. "Do you have any idea where you are?"

The man continued to stare off into space, but he answered faithfully.

"The question is not where I am," he replied. "It is why I am here."

Zack noticed that the intruder was dressed in black. His hair was long and platinum blonde, like pure silver. He pulled out his sword immediately and trained it against the man before him. And still, the intruder did not budge.

"If you must know," the man said, "I did not kill that gardener."

"And how do you know about that?" Zack questioned suspiciously. "I accused you of nothing."

"You condemned me before you even released that sword," he argued. "And I know… I watched from a distance."

Zack tightened his hold on the hilt of the sword. The intruder exhaled heavily and finally turned an eye towards his accuser.

"You  _know_?" Zack muttered in disbelief.

"That gardener got too close," the man answered. "You are right, by the way. He was not their target. But… had he not stuck his nose the matter, he would have been able to keep his life. How pitiful."

"Who is ' **they'**?"

The intruder did not answer, closing his eyes and dropping his head in reflection. Zack raised the sword and threatened the man with its tip. There was no reaction of fear... only a wry smile.

"I would not go pointing that around I were you," the man teased.

"And why not?" Zack asked cantankerously.

"Never point your sword at the entrance of a cave… you filthy human."

Zack heard a disturbing noise rising all around him, and his head turned by instinct. A few large crows flew above them, cackling to each other with their shrill squawks. After their cries died down, all sound had stopped. A chill went down his spine.

By the time he remembered what was happening, the intruder had disappeared. Zack pulled back his sword, but only the hilt remained. The blade lay on the ground before him, shattered into pieces. He sucked in his breath and ran back into the palace.


	5. IV: The boy in the painting

“In the north?” asked Lars. “Is that where the prince saw this man?”

 “Aye sir,” Veld replied.

The king of Gelinde sat poised on the edge of his bed with his hands on his knees, while Veld had knelt before him to deliver the audible message. With each word, Lars grew more and more disturbed.

“May I ask why the prince was out at such an ungodly hour?”

“I asked him that myself… but he wished to confide to you only... should I fetch him now?”

Lars grunted and shook his head. “No. I will speak with him in private tomorrow. For now, there is nothing to do but wait.”

Veld cleared his throat and replied, “With all do respect, your majesty, I believe we must take extra caution **now**. I have already heard your decision… to move the princess to a different suite… but that may not be good enough…”

Lars flared up in a controlled rage, and Veld mentally cringed.

“Are you implying that I cannot protect my own daughter?” the king seethed.

“No, my lord,” Veld murmured. “I am not trying to be impertinent. I wonder…”

“You wonder what?”

“N-nothing, your majesty. I just wonder.”

Lars stood from his bed and walked towards his private desk. Veld watched from the corner of his sharp eyes.

“Leave now,” Lars commanded.

Veld bowed his head and stole away quietly. As soon as his spy had left, Lars pondered to himself and made a decision. He sat down to his desk and pulled out some paper. He dabbed his quill into some ink and began to write.

 

 

Tifa woke up to the sound of running water. She opened her eyes and was shocked to find that she was not in her bed again. She almost panicked, thinking that she had returned to that insane world again. And yet, as she sat up, she ran her fingers through the grass and felt the cool air of the night.

Tifa stood up and became brave enough to observe her new surroundings. She was standing at the edge of a forest. Before her, the woodlands gave way to a wide clearing, more than large enough for a city. The wind picked up, and the smell of freshwater hit her face.

On the other side of the clearing, Tifa saw what appeared to be a town. She narrowed her eyes and discerned some of its details. There were dozens of building, all varying in shape and size. She could see the rococo design in the architecture and the wide steps that heralded all of their entrances. And then, she noticed the glimmer of a wide river. Perhaps, it was an aristocratic community.

But amongst the various buildings, there was very large structure, a structure that dwarfed the main house of Ulbrecht. The majority of the building was on one side of the river, facing the other side of the forest. The rest of it pointed towards her and was connected to its counterpart by a passageway of some sort.

 _What superb construction_ , Tifa thought. _Definitely not Gelinde..._

All this was well, fine, and good, but she still had no idea where she was or whether she should venture forth. She stopped herself and shook her worries away.

“Stop it!” she commanded herself. “This is all just a silly dream…it will end…and then, it will be morning…”

“If you get to wake up, princess.”

Tifa winced and turned to face…whoever it was. She looked up and her eyes met with the eyes of a stranger, who was lounging on a strong tree branch. He was dressed all in black with his slanted homburg, his leather overcoat, and his riding boots. His short, silver hair sprouted out of the hat like straw, and underneath the rim, his bright, green eyes were lying in wait. Tifa took a step back and maintained her distance.

“Um, hello,” Tifa greeted politely.

The man did not respond. Tifa gulped.

“Well?”

“Well what?” the stranger answered.

“It appears that you know I am a princess,” she explained. “So, who exactly are **you**?”

The man scoffed and jerked his head, completely turning away from her. Tifa wondered if she had offended him somehow.

“Excuse me, sir?” Tifa asked. “This may seem like a strange question, but… are we in a dream?”

The stranger gave her an incredulous look and grunted in exasperation.

“Well... if it is not a fantasy… where exactly am I? This surely cannot be the city of Royals…”

“Should I have need to answer a question in so foolish a manner?” the man replied (in a whiny tone).

“I beg your pardon?” Tifa asked.

The stranger took off his hat and stared at her with his chin raised and his eyes dropping downward.

“What I mean,” he continued, “Is that answering such a question is foolish. Especially since the inquirer has a puny mind such as yours… how could you possibly…”

Despite her upbringing, Tifa felt her temper flare up.

“How dare you!” she shrieked. “You have no right to speak to me so carelessly!”

The man chuckled in amusement. “Oh?”

The princess of Gelinde turned up her nose and folded her arms across her chest. She decided that there was no use conversing with such a man and prepared to leave. But before she did, Tifa saw fit to put him in his place.

“In case you did not know,” Tifa answered triumphantly, “It would have been foolish of me not to ask.”

The stranger took an obvious amusement to her anger and smiled derisively. Nonetheless, Tifa kept on.

“Perhaps you cannot tell me because **you** do not know,” she mused. “Or maybe, the truth of our whereabouts is so complicated that it is impossible to wrap around your thick skull. But I have neither the time nor the patience to stay with you and figure it out. Goodbye, sir!”

Tifa let out a dignified “humph” and turned to march towards the compound. But as she turned, a hand shot out and grabbed her under her chin. She grunted in pain.

“I am glad to see that you have a sense of humor,” a voice mocked.

She opened her eyes and found, to her surprise, that she was in the grasp of the stranger. Had he not just been sitting up in the tree?

“You human,” he muttered in disdain. “A pathetic being with a life span that only promises less than a hundred years… creatures like you should learn to hold your tongue!”

He squeezed tighter under her chin, and she cried out from the pressure. Tifa reflexively grabbed his hand and tried to pry it off.

“Then again,” he considered, “I have been deprived of beautiful female company...for such a long time…”

The stranger let out a sickening chuckle and squeezed harder. It was becoming difficult for Tifa to breathe.

“How would you like to take a short journey with me?”

Letting one hand free, and baring like a claw, Tifa aimed for his face as hard as she could. The palm of her hand connected with his chin, and her nails raked across his face. The stranger let out a surprised grunt and let go. Tifa fell to the ground. She looked up to see the damage, but it was not very much. He recovered quickly and peered down on her through constricted eyes.

“Spirited little thing,” he commented.

The stranger took a few steps towards her. Tifa thought the man could see her shaking. He knelt down beside her and gave her the grin of a devil; his eyes were wild and possessed. He reached out to grab her.

“This will be fun…”

A subtle, whistling sound zipped through the air. Tifa watched his hand stop, and the man yelled in pain. A long, white arrow protruded from his arm, and blood dripped onto her nightgown. Obviously, the stranger was no longer paying attention to her. His amused temperament had changed to anger, with a hint of panic.

“Curse them!” he snarled. “Can they truly be here already?”

When he turned back to her, Tifa kicked him hard in the stomach. She hopped to her feet while he fell on his face, and she ran past him with all her might, pulling her nightgown all the way up past her knees. There was no time for modesty when one’s life was in jeopardy.

 

 

Luckily, the door had been unlocked, and Tifa shut it immediately. She slid against the door and sank to the ground, trying to catch her breath. Hugging her feet to her chest, she buried her face into her knees.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she said quietly. “This is just a dream. It is only a dream. This is only a dream.”

Her head popped up, and she glanced from side to side to see if anyone was there. All she saw were candles on chandeliers. Tifa rose quickly to her feet and forced herself to move; it was no good staying in the same place.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

She heard her voice as it echoed against the walls. When she realized how loud it was, Tifa thought twice about speaking up again. Someone else might have been after her.

Tifa recognized that she was in a foyer, one that could encase hallway of **her** home thrice over. One side was a series of tall windows, all outlined with elegant golden designs. The other side was granite, stone archways, leading deeper into the premises. She passed through an archway and stepped into a court.

She hurried quickly across the marble floor, and the tiles froze her toes. The distance she covered was so long that she wondered if the court had any end to it. Once she reached the other side, it opened up to the outside and extended into a raised bridge. She assumed it that it lead to a more secluded part of the building.

Tifa stepped onto a bridge and walked across. Below it, she saw the river making its course below. She stopped for a moment and leaned against the rail to look down.

 **“Cross the bridge!”** a voice commanded.

Tifa could not tell which direction it came from. The voice sounded disembodied. She looked and looked, but no one was with her.

**“Cross the bridge before it is too late!”**

She obeyed blindly and hurried across, cursing the bridge for being too long (like everything else). Before she reached the other side, Tifa heard a loud thud behind her.

In spite of everything, she yielded to temptation and turned around. A dead body lay two yards away from her feet. Naturally, Tifa recoiled in horror, but she was not shattered. In reality, she had seen dead bodies with worse luck. She briefly examined it, with mouth opened wide, and realized that this corpse looked similar to the very rogue who had assaulted her by the forest, mostly noting the thick, silver hair. But the resemblance was only slight.

Tifa heard a small bell jingling from the other side, and it sounded distinctively familiar. She whirled her head, and to her astonishment, her feline was there, waiting for her! Tifa quickly abandoned the body and ran towards her cat for comfort. She crossed the bridge completely, took the animal in her arms, and squeezed him gently.

She heard another thump coming from the bridge, and she almost did not look. Another body was lying on top of the first. A large, white arrow was protruding from his back.

 

 

Her curiosity blended with alertness; she had to keep going... and searching. _There was no possible way I could be found in a place so vast,_ she thought.

The building stood on several floors. The windows were taller than buildings (and wider too). Even the halls proved worse than the ones before it. The architect must have intended to make the property into a superlative.

The cat was behaving even more strangely than usual. He walked diligently in front of her with the bell chiming around his neck. Several times, the feline stopped for her, and as soon as she caught up, he was in front of her again.

They turned a corner and went up a flight of stairs before coming to a new hallway. The cat stopped in front of a pair of doors and swished his tail as if he had found a mouse.

“What is that you have there?” Tifa asked.

The feline put his paws on one of the doors. He wanted to go inside, but why? Tifa shrugged and opened the door; the cat slipped in through the crack. She followed inside and shut the door quietly. As though someone had been expecting her, the room had been brightly lit (with, yes, more candles). Tifa began to wonder how much wax was being used up.

Upon entering, she came face to face with a rather impressionable statue. Standing up straight in a medieval suit of armor, the statue proudly observed the rest of the room with its blank eyes. She saw the other pieces following it and assumed that she had found the obligatory gallery. Beyond the stone heads, there was a doorway to a room full of paintings. The cat ventured in, and Tifa was left to go after him.

The feline stopped by a table in the middle of the room and lay down in a sphinx position. Tifa sat down to rest and leaned against the wall. Her head fell back, and she explored the room with her eyes.

The paintings, framed with gold, were hung in an orderly fashion on the walls. Each piece was labeled at the bottom of their frame. With the aid of candlelight, Tifa noticed that the majority of the paintings were landscape; the rest were buildings. She had no interest in such things, and so, when she noticed the doorway to a larger room, there was no reason to stay.

The feline followed her until Tifa stopped in front of a long, glass case. He sat down and waited while she browsed.

The case had a shelf inside, covered with a piece of purple, velvet cloth. A few antiques were lying on the cloth: two daggers with jeweled, metal hilts (one silver and the other gold), a rose gold crucifix pendant, and a light blue handkerchief, embroidered with flowers and the letter “M”. A metal block labeled the collection:

_The favored possessions of Zwolf Urien Baldric Fundelstein, the late king of Dammerung_

Tifa frowned in aversion.

“Zwolf?” she asked. “What kind of name is that?”

 She shrugged and moved onto the paintings. Her pet feline stood on all fours and trotted at her feet.

The first piece that caught her attention was of a handsome, young boy, posing beside an ornate fountain. His long, silver hair was tossed all over his shoulders. With head tilted slightly upward, his lips were curled into a proud smile and his eyes turned away from the audience. He must have been **very** aware of who he was.

Tifa looked at the label on the bottom of the frame and read:

“Zwolf, Crown Prince of Dammerung at age thirteen.”

The next painting was of the same person but only five years later. Tifa followed the pieces along the wall, much as if she was following the life of a monarch in a storybook. Another painting caught her eye even more: the portrait of a handsome lady. The label read: Lady Kennice.

And despite her nut-brown hair, she looked remarkably like Scarlet!

 Tifa shook her head and laughed. “Absolutely ape! This must be a dream after all.”

Tifa felt something soft, brushing against her legs. The cat wanted to be noticed. She stooped down and started to pet him, but he slipped out of her hands and ran to the other side of the room. Tifa frowned and went after him. Her pet feline stopped in front of a specific painting and sat down, waiting for her.

The cat had stopped beneath a painting of three people. The first was, of course, Zwolf, who was still a crown prince (according to the label). The second was Lady Kennice, who was now the Princess Consort, his wife. The third, who sat between them, was a very small child who looked very much like his father. The boy clung to his father, while the mother sat a few inches away on the couch. All of them were smiling pleasantly for the painter.

The cat rubbed against her leg again. When Tifa looked down, he trotted off to another painting and sat down. For a moment, she stood where she was and watched his movements. The animal craned his head and gave her a wide-eyed look that seemed to say “Are you coming or not?”

“You are being awfully pushy,” Tifa scolded.

“Meow!” he answered stubbornly.

The painting was hung high on the wall. All she saw was a simple portrait of an older woman. She breathed deeply and read the label:

“Jenova Magdalene Birgit Fundelstein, Princess of Dammerung.”

The subject had a beautiful, weary face that looked remarkably timeless. Perhaps, this Zwolf was a relative of hers. Her pale skin was in contrast with her burgundy eyes. Her lips were painted maroon, and her hair was pinned up in a reserved display. Her clothing was rich but simple, no frills but tasteful.

But as Tifa kept looking, the stunning face seemed to darken in the painting. At first, she thought it was the candlelight flickering, but the skin became darker and darker with each passing second. As it darkened, her skin started to shrivel and disappear; the teeth and eye sockets became exposed. Tifa gasped and covered her mouth. By the time she closed her eyes and turned away, the face had turned into a hallow skull with hair.

“B-by God!” Tifa stammered.

She opened her eyes and faced it again, wondering if she had seen an illusion. Her hopes were shattered; the cadaverous face remained.Something dripped from the eye sockets of the painting… something dark and syrupy. The painting started the ooze with the substance, and Tifa thought that the paint was melting off of the canvas. But then, she smelled a foul, decaying scent, coming straight from the painting itself. It was bleeding!

Tifa opened her mouth and screamed. She turned and ran back to the doorway, but the doors moved swiftly and closed in her face. Tifa yelped and turned on her heels, looking frantically for another way out, and another door was waiting for her. She scooped up her pet feline in haste and burst through the threshold.

 

 

It mattered not how many twists and turns she made; all she could think of was getting away. Tifa saw a staircase in front of her and went up its steps without a second thought. She stumbled and nearly dropped the cat, but his claws were well embedded in her nightgown. She reached the top and kept running, only to trip on a rug and go tumbling down.

Tifa rolled on her side and groaned. The cat squirmed out of her grip.

“I have to leave this place,” she whispered. “I have to. I want to go home!”

To her dismay, Tifa realized that she had lost track of where she was. In her blind flight, she had become even more lost than before. Wherever she was, there were no more candles, and if it were not for the windows, she would never have seen a thing. For all Tifa knew, she could have still been in the gallery.

The hall was deathly quiet; Tifa could not even hear her own breathing. She started to sink in despair. Was there really a place to run after all?

Suddenly, a gentle hand reached out and touched her head. The hand slid its fingers on her face, leaving warmth wherever they tread, and brushed against her cheek. It traveled upward and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. The motion was so comforting that Tifa did not realized what was happening.

The hand left her, and after a few seconds, Tifa sat up. There was no one to be seen. She remembered her pet feline, but when she looked for him, he had disappeared from her side. She cried out in distress.

But then, the ring of his bell came from a distance and caught her ear. She looked ahead and saw a light coming from a turn at the hallway. A shadow was engulfed in it.

The bell chimed a second time, and the shadow started to move away. The light followed with it. Tifa stood on her shaking legs and desperately chased after it.

“Wait!” she shouted. “Please! Wait for me!”

It kept moving nonetheless. The bell rang once more. The shadow gradually disappeared, but she could still see the light. So, she pressed onward.

When she nearly came to the turn, Tifa heard an unsettling noise, followed by a few loud thuds. Despite herself, she turned to see what had happened. Three dead bodies lay on the floor, two on their faces and one on his back. Blood splattered the walls like spilled paint. Her breath hitched, and she clasped her hand over her mouth. She backed away from the scene and went running… at a faster pace.

True, she did not know what was going on, nor did she know what it meant. But she definitely did not want to be a part of it.

The shadow and its light waited at another turn; it almost seemed to provoke her. Tifa felt the first inklings of frustration, and her body quickly became weak. She was not used to so much running.

“Hold on for just a minute!” she shouted.

The shadow continued to move at its own pace. The bell chimed again, but this time, it sounded much closer than before. Tifa thought that by some miracle, she was gaining on this mysterious person. The thought put strength back into her limbs.

Halfway across, she felt something warm hit her face and nightgown. She ignored it and continued to chase the light until she tripped over a large mass. Tifa landed on her hands and knees; something solid was underneath her legs. She strained her neck to see what it was, and found that she had stumbled over another fresh corpse. With an appalled gulp, she frantically crawled off of it.

She got on one knee to stand and noticed that the torso of her nightgown was stained with blood. She bit her lip to keep from balling. She prepared to get up, but as she looked up, a man was standing before her… holding a sword over her! The bell was practically ringing in her ears. Tifa screamed in terror and tried to back up, hitting the corpse behind her. The sword fell from his hands and landed beside her with a clank.

She watched his arms fall to his side, and his eyes were fixed in a widened stare. Something sharp tore through his shirt, and red circle appeared and expanded around it. He put his hand on the tear and coughed out blood. Suddenly, an unseen force came and severed off his head, spraying blood all over her; the head bounced on her shoulder and fell somewhere behind her. The headless body fell forward. Tifa rolled out of the way and staggered to her feet.

In a mere moment, all the weight seemed to slip off her body, and she was in flight again. The bell rang more frequently.

Tifa could her several loud thuds behind her, accompanied with a cacophony of other unpleasant noises. But she did not turn around to see. A body appeared and fell in front of her. She leapt over it without a second thought.

The princess of Gelinde was powerless. All she could do was mentally repeat the very phrase that was holding her together:

_This is only a dream… this is only a dream… this is only a dream._

And even then, she was beginning to doubt that.

The light was within her reach now. Tifa barely made the turn without running into the wall. Ahead of her, there was an open door in the hallway, and the light was disappearing in the doorway. A trap, perhaps?

Tifa slipped through it, but when she tried to stop, she became disoriented and stumbled into the middle of the room. Her legs were ready to give out. Under her heavy panting, Tifa heard the door click shut. To her unfathomable anguish, no one was there.

There were no painted walls. The whole room was a large mirror, right down to the floor she was standing upon. Unavoidably, she came across the dishevelment of her appearance. Her braid was half-undone, her face was pale, and she was covered in blood. Her eyes were red and puffy; she must have been crying without knowing it.

Tifa sank to her hands and knees. Her body shook from overexertion and her breathing fogged up the tiles. From the reflection of the tile, she could see a box-like lantern, hanging from the ceiling. The bell jingled beside her, but the cat was not there. Tifa wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She could barely make out a coherent thought. What else could she do?

The bell rang continuously, as if someone was shaking it. Tifa came back to her senses. The floor beneath her was giving off light. She gasped and tried to get up, but her feet her stuck. Tifa looked down, and her feet were literally sinking into the floor! She screamed and tried to pull her feet out, but they would not budge. The floor sucked her in like quicksand. No matter how hard Tifa struggled, she kept sinking further and further into the ground.

“Help me!” she shouted frantically. “Somebody, please help me!”

No one answered. Finally, her head was so close to the ground that the light blinded her. After one last cry for help, her body was completely submerged.

 

 

Tifa woke up with a hoarse scream, springing up in her bed.

Nothing.

She fell back against her pillows; her head tossed left and right, and her chest moved up and down. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw the familiar shapes of her room. Tifa took deep breaths and closed her eyes.

She was back. The Princess of Gelinde was back home.

“Just a dream,” she muttered to herself. “As I thought…”

She saw that her door was slightly cracked, and some dim light flittered into the room. It was not enough to calm her.

“Just a dream,” she repeated. Her breathing slowed down.

Words alone did not comfort her. The dream was still fresh in her mind, and she could not stop shaking. She needed to get her heart out. But how?

Tifa sat up in bed, her eyes lowered to the sheets. Her bangs were stuck to her forehead with sweat. She thought for a while and then remembered that Yuffie had left a lamp on her vanity. She climbed out of bed and scampered over to find it. Personally, Tifa was glad that her companion did not leave her a candlestick. She never wanted to see one again.

She saw its curved shape. Tifa felt for the handle of a drawer and pulled it. She reached inside, groped for an oval, wooden matchbox, and took it out. She popped off the top, took out a match, and struck against the side of the box to light it. Tifa took the small flame to the wick, and as soon she got the light, she blew out the match. She stuck it on a metal plate that was sitting on her vanity surface.

Just to make sure, Tifa brought the light near the mirror to check her reflection. Her nightgown was still white.

 

 

Tifa wrapped herself in a shawl and got her slippers before leaving her room. The comforts of home made her feel better. But that was not enough. She needed someone to talk to. And there was only one person for that.

Tifa found the door that led to her companion and knocked. Yuffie would definitely be asleep, but at the moment, she had no qualms about waking her up. Was that not the reason why Yuffie was brought into the palace? To comfort and soothe her whenever she had need of it?

She waited for a minute, but Yuffie did not answer. Tifa knocked again but took care not to be too loud about it; other people were sleeping in her suite. She still heard no answer. Tifa opened the door and peeked inside.

Yuffie lay flat on her back, completely dead to the world. Tifa tiptoed inside.

“Yuffie!” she called out in a whisper.

Yuffie let out a small, snorting sound. Tifa came closer and called out again.

“Yuffie!”

Her companion smacked her lips and twitched her head on a pillow. Tifa rolled her eyes and walked until she was standing over the bed.

“Yuffie! Please wake up!”

Yuffie hummed in her sleep and smiled. Tifa sat the lamp on the nightstand. She bent over and gave Yuffie a shake.

“Yuffie!”

Her companion swatted her hand away and rolled over on the bed.

“Five more minutes, Scarlet!” Yuffie mumbled in her sleep. “Just… five more minutes.”

Yuffie burrowed into her pillow and went deeper into sleep. Tifa felt a twinge of guilt and gave up. She picked up the lantern and slipped out of the room, scuttling back towards her own.

 _She is such a heavy sleeper_ , Tifa remembered. _I should have known._

She turned the knob of her door and stepped casually back into her room. Tifa brought light to where her pet feline was supposedly sleeping. But he was not in his basket. She searched the room for him, but there was no sign. Tifa was surprised but not worried. The cat knew his way around, so she would leave the door slightly open.

The stickiness of her sweaty nightgown bothered her, so she went into her closet to find a fresh one. All the while, she deliberately took deep breaths and exhaled in an exaggerated manner.

 _Easy now, girl_ , she told herself. _No reason to get worked up anymore._

Tifa strained to unbutton her nightgown. She peeled it off and let it pool around her ankles. The cool air touched her bare skin, refreshing it; for a moment, she stood completely bare, relieved by the comfortable sensation. Tifa stepped away from her former clothing and opened one of her various drawers. She pulled out a pink, short-sleeved nightgown and shook it out of its folds.

As she pulled the nightgown over her head, a small melody slipped into the closet and into her ears. Tifa jumped, not knowing what the sound was at first, but when she listened, she realized that someone was playing a piano. She slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled the rest of the garment over her body.

Tifa stepped out of the closet with her lamp and went to investigate. The melody seemed to be coming from the halls. She went to her door and leaned out to hear what direction it was coming from. It was definitely somewhere within her suite, but this was very strange.

 _I do not have a piano_ , she recalled.

The melody was coming from the living area. Although the nightmare continued to prey on her mind, Tifa stepped out of her room to see what was going on. As she got closer, the song became louder. In a brief moment, Tifa thought that she was still in the dream. The suspense was eating away at her brain.

 _I am in my own home,_ Tifa believed. _How could it hurt?_

The doors to the living area were shut. Someone was in there. Tifa cleared her throat and turned the knob with a small creak. But as she opened the door, the song came to an abrupt stop. Tifa yanked the door wide. She shined the light all over the room, but it was empty.

In the corner of the room, right by one of the windows, Tifa found the source of the music: an elegant pianoforte. But it made no sense; she had never seen this piano before.

_What on earth is this doing in my suite?_

Tifa walked deeper into the living area and got a better look at the instrument; it was creamy white, a peculiar color for a piano, and took up a lot a space. A long, white, matching bench complemented it.

She tried to reason when and why the piano came to be there. Perhaps, it was a gift from her father (or even her brother, Rufus). They were known to leave tokens for her without saying a word, so she let herself assume that it was an early birthday present.

And who had been playing it? Was it one of the maids that were staying within the suite? Perhaps, they had heard her coming and fled. But what kind of maid had such skilled knowledge of the piano?

Tifa instinctively waved the light around, in case someone was hiding from her. Instead, the light ran across her new painting, which gave her a brief fright. In the dim light and shadows, the boy of the portrait seemed to stare in her direction. Tifa put her hand to her heart and sighed.

“Perhaps, father was right,” she murmured.

She gave the portrait a hard stare and shook her head. “Nay.”

Tifa regarded the piano again. She realized that the window was bare; all of the other windows had their curtains drawn. She shrugged, assuming the maids might have missed it, but she was unconcerned. She turned to leave.

Tifa looked up, and at once, she saw a shadowy figure with glowing, green eyes. She quickly raised the lamp up, and she recognized, with horror, who the person was. Tifa screamed and stumbled backwards, dropping the lamp onto the rug below her. The rug was soft enough to cushion its fall.

Tifa landed on her backside and scooted rearwards to escape. The rogue, the very one she had met in her dream, was standing over her! He casually held his sword in his hand.

“Oh, you are **not** getting away this time!” he cried.

He reached to grab her, but Tifa scrambled away. She saw the door behind him, but no one was coming. Did not anyone hear her? She looked for some sort of makeshift weapon, but there was nothing. Tifa cursed the room for not having enough things.

The villain closed in on her, and she had nowhere to run. All she could do was close her eyes and wait… for whatever was about to happen.

An awful, slicing sound sang through the air, and her attacker yelped. Tifa waited for a few seconds and opened her eyes. The rogue was lying a few feet away from her, cursing and writhing in excruciating pain. Blood seeped on the rug. 

Tifa let her arms give out, and she fell on her back. She brought her shaking hands to her eyes and sobbed, but the tears never came.

This was still just a dream, right? Tifa wanted to believe that. She wanted to think that she had been lulled into a false sense of security, only to be terrorized once again. Then, a ghastly thought came to mind…one that she had already pondered before.

What if this was never a dream in the first place?

Suddenly, Tifa sensed a third party in the room. Her hands slipped off her face, and her eyes traveled upward. Another man was standing over the rogue with a dirtied sword in hand. Tifa could barely make out his features… but she did see a familiar pair of blue eyes.

He started to walk towards her, and Tifa hoped to her feet.

“W-who are you?” she asked breathlessly.

The man stooped down and picked up the lamp. He dropped his sword on the ground. Tifa backed up a few steps. She briefly glanced behind him, hoping that someone would come bursting through the door. Unintentionally, Tifa noticed that the attacker had disappeared.

“Who are you?” she asked more firmly.

Tifa watched with the utmost attention as he straightened himself up in unearthly fluidness. The man dressed like a gentleman… an aristocrat probably, but she was not sure. He took a weary sounding breath and advanced towards her. Every step he took, she could hear his boots clicking against the floor.

“Who are you?!”

She could see him very clearly. The man had a very handsome face… accompanied by an eerily inexpressive mien, lacking any emotion. Tifa continued to look at him and came to a startling discovery: he had a striking resemblance to the boy in the painting!

Before she realized it, the man held the lamp up to her in offering.

“You dropped this,” he said quietly. “You must not do that. **Never** let go of the light.”

His voice was very monotone, but she got the impression that he was chiding her. Tifa looked at him, then at the lamp, and then at him once again. She would not dare take it.

Seeing her fear, the man reached down and pressed the lamp into her the palm of her hand; his fingers intertwined with hers. Tifa gasped and tried to pull away, but he snatched the wrist of her other arm and held it fast. Finding nowhere to run, she shook like a leaf. 

The man leaned closer to her until their heads were inches apart. He was so close; she could smell something pleasant and intoxicating. Despite herself, Tifa became lost in his eyes. They were just… so...

She had seen them from somewhere, but she could not understand where.

“By the way,” he continued. “When you say ‘who are you’, what do you mean by that?”

“W-what?”

He leaned the rest of the way and gentle kissed her on the lips. Tifa sang a muffled, soprano squeak but was unable to move away.  She was at his mercy. Her growing fatigue was not helping much each either. As her body became weaker, her resistance waned against him. Her vision grew darker and darker.

 _That scent_ , she thought, and then she knew no more.


	6. V: The mystery must be solved

Lars splashed hot water onto his face and took a deep breath. His broad fingers were beginning to prune. With a wide-mouthed yawn, he waded on his knees to the edge of the bath. He leaned against the edge, and the water came up to the middle of his chest.

Naturally, the king of Gelinde had the largest bath in the palace. In the early morning, he liked a very hot bath, so the air was dulled with steam. On the other side of the basin, right in front of him, there was a looking glass that took up the entire wall. He wondered why his ancestors had put a mirror in there in the first place.

Then, his mind started to focus on more important matters… for instance, the letter he had written. Veld had gone to deliver it two hours ago, but he had not made any indication of his return. Lars was displeased; he was already tense enough as it was.

“This is outrageous!” he muttered. “How can they be keeping him at a time like this?”

Lars relaxed his shoulders and sighed in submission. He was king, and yet he was a slave to time. He was only obliged to sit. Nothing to do but wait. A dangerous pastime…

He heard a small creak, sounding much like a door being opened. He shifted from his comfortable position and listened for a voice or some footsteps. No one came. Lars leaned back on the edge, and he heard the door being shut.

 _Probably a manservant making his rounds,_ he thought.

He inwardly scolded himself for being so anxious. But then again, why should he not be? He lowered his eyes to the surface of the water and tried to clear his head. The kingdom of Gelinde had been in jeopardy before. He reasoned within himself that this was merely kingdom business. It was just an issue that had to be dealt with. And it would be, once Father Kisaragi responded to his letter.

So, when would Veld return?

Lars looked up and immediately noticed something strange. Right in front of him on the other side of the bathing room, he saw what appeared to be irregular shapes on the looking glass. The room was so steamed up that he could barely make it out, but it appeared to be words.

He waded cautiously to the other side of the bath. As he drew close, Lars noticed that the words had been drawn out on the mirror with a finger. But he had seen no one come in or out.

With his back straight and his eyes directly on the looking glass, the water started to feel rather cold. His eyes met with a pair of cryptic words, written in calligraphic style:

SEVEN DAYS

His eyes narrowed, and he muttered:

“They are moving faster than I thought.”

 

 

Meanwhile, another grim scene was taking place within Ulbrecht. Unfortunately, it was difficult (if not impossible) to tell where or how distant it occurred, for the location was near… and at the same time, very far away. Even more troublesome, something seemed so out of place that any intelligent person might question whether he or she was inside the palace at all.

It felt... too empty.

In the middle of the palace, the throne room had become occupied. A sword fell with a clank upon the tiled floor. The rogue supported himself against the steps of the throne, with his head lowered in a pitiful yet sinister manner. As he rested upon the steps, his wounds healed in a rapid, inhuman pace. The cut in his stomach was already closing up. He watched his muscles mend together, all the while sneering at being beaten back so easily.

An echoing creak filled the air, and the rogue became alert. The entrance doors, tall and majestic, opened into the throne room like a fan.  He raised his head, almost knowing who would be there, but he saw no one. A strange, formless presence came upon him, and he lowered his head again.

He heard quiet footsteps, almost too small to notice. The presence came closer, quickly taking shape until it solidified. The footsteps stopped. His name was called out.

“Kadaj?”

Kadaj looked up with venom in his eyes. A few yards before him, the girl stood, dressed in a hooded, jet-black cloak. The hood was draped over her head, covering half of her face.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“I can barely feel it,” Kadaj replied mockingly. “It is almost gone, in fact. But come, come now…why does his majesty worry so much about the likes of me? Surely, there is something… more worth your time.”

“I spend my time as it pleases me,” she answered. “I need no one to advise me on how to use it… especially not from a peasant.”

Kadaj heard amusement in her voice and pressed his lips in indignation.

“You swine,” he mumbled. “Did you come to laugh at me?”

Initially, the girl did not answer, and a short pause ensued. The cape swayed from her movement.

“I am curious about something,” she said.

“What?” Kadaj asked curtly.

“Tell me… why do you try to hinder me so adamantly? Is it out of love for her? And if not for love, is it only because you are chained to her?”

Kadaj opened his mouth slightly but made no reply. He gritted his teeth and refused to look at her. The cloaked girl took a few steps toward him.

“Kadaj?”

“S-shut up!” he yelled. “What do you know about it? What do you know about anything?”

The girl let out a tired sigh and turned to leave. Kadaj sat up with a bemused frown; the wound was nearly sewn together. Several steps later, she stopped and turned her head over her shoulder.

“You do not know… how sad.”

“Will I be teased by a cursed child?!”

Kadaj released a large mass of wind-like energy and shot it forward. The girl swerved around, and the attack stopped abruptly in front of her, blowing in all directions. The windows vibrated and shook. The hood of her cape fell backwards, and her white dress was exposed from underneath.

Initially, she said nothing. She straightened out her cape and dress and combed her long, satiny, blonde hair from its untidy state. She cracked an unforced smile and gave him a standing ovation.

“Very good!” she chirped.

The girl briefly stuck out her tongue. Kadaj growled.

“Now **_that_** was teasing,” she revealed.

She stretched out her hand toward him and spread her fingers. Kadaj felt an odd sensation on his wound and looked down. The healing process had been stopped. His eyes widened, and he gave the girl a nervous, twitching smile.

“And this is ruthless,” she murmured.

She clenched her fist and jerked her hand towards her chest. The wound reopened itself, and blood spilled on the steps of the throne. Kadaj howled in agony, falling onto the steps and rolling onto his side. There he lay, cursing and coughing out blood once more.

“It is said,” the girl declared, “That anyone who touches a cursed child will receive the curse seven-fold.”

Kadaj could not answer. She waited for a moment, in case he would, but was not entirely disappointed. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a platinum pocket watch to tell the time.

“You have nothing more to say to me?” she inquired. “Well then. I take my leave. Heal your injuries and go back... to that woman you call your queen.”

As Kadaj quickly went into shock, he listened to the retreating footsteps until they completely died out. The doors of the throne room creaked as they were shut.

 

 

A half-hour later, Yuffie stirred awake when someone hammered on the door. She groaned in disdain, wanting to shout at the person who interrupted her sleep, but now, she knew better. Yuffie resigned herself and labored to sit up. She reached for the ceiling, stretching her body, and yawned. The knock came again.

“Come in!” Yuffie replied.

The door opened, and Scarlet entered with taunting smile painted on her slips, followed by a group of maids. Yuffie hated that smile with a passion.

“What?” Scarlet asked in mock surprise. “No ‘five more minutes’? Has little Lady Kisaragi finally grown up?”

Yuffie scowled and hopped out of bed. The maids crossed to the end of the bedroom, where there was a door that led to a small bath. Yuffie heard them pouring the water and continued to stretch casually. Scarlet raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot on the floor.

“Chop, chop!” she cried. “No dilly dallying! We have a very busy schedule today!”

Yuffie nodded with a grunt and walked lively towards her small bathing room. As soon as she stepped in, the maids practically mauled her. Yuffie yelped as they stripped her of her nightgown and hoisted her naked body into the tub.

“Bloody night!” Yuffie cursed.

The maids paid her no mind and scrubbed her like there was no tomorrow. Yuffie cringed at the rough sensation.

“No time for relaxation either,” Scarlet declared. “The schedule has been altered today.”

“Altered?!” Yuffie asked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“The king has decided for the princess to be moved to the other suite… immediately.”

A maid grabbed her arm and hoisted it up. Yuffie flinched in discomfort.

“I never heard anything about it!” she complained. “I thought that was supposed to happen next week. This is outrageous! If I had been told yesterday, I would have tried to wake up earlier.”

“I did not learn of it until very late last night,” Scarlet countered. “I have hardly had my sleep. Be grateful that I let **you** sleep at your normal time. I considered waking you more than two hours ago!”

Yuffie gulped and nodded in submission; she was grateful. The maids surrounded her utterly and cleaned her in places that she forgot she had. After fifteen minutes of painful brushes and uncomfortable jerks, the maids helped her out of the tub. One of them remained in the bathing room to help her towel dry. Scarlet pulled out a piece of paper from her cleavage and retrieved the pocket watch that was hanging from her waist.

“This is your new schedule today,” Scarlet said. “Bathing has been done. It is now five ‘till six. At 6:30, wake up the princess and get her into the bath. Be eating with her by 7:00. At 8:15, review her personal inventory and put it on a list. At nine o’clock, run over to the master of workers and give it to him. He will send men to come and move them. The maids will take care of her clothes… **before** than.”

“Is 45 minutes enough to go over all her things?” Yuffie inquired.

The servant woman wrapped Yuffie into a towel and led her out of the bathing room. Scarlet ignored the question and followed them while reading the paper.

“At 9:30, the king will have an audience with the princess. You will be there with her. At ten o’clock…the crown prince will be returning home for the birthday of his sister. I am sure they will want to visit with each other. You will have some rest time from eleven o’clock to noon. At 12:30 p.m., you will lunch with the royal family and the prince of Kiel. I suppose the cat will be joining you… so keep track of him.”

Yuffie saw that her bed was already made. On top of the bed, the maids had laid out her underclothes. With a deep breath, Yuffie slipped on a white, silk chemise, a pair of bloomers, cream-white lace stockings, and a pair of very shiny, black shoes. As she fastened her under clothes, Yuffie watched the maid come back with a caramel-colored corset and a mass of freshly starched petticoats.

“The cat keeps track of himself,” Yuffie replied. “Never lost him before.”

Scarlet shrugged and went on. “At 2:30 p.m., go to the new suite and check on her arriving items. Make sure they are all and accounted for. At 3:30 p.m., take the princess into her new suite and let her get some rest. She will most definitely need it.”

The maid helped Yuffie into the corset. She leaned forward against the edge of the bed, sucked in her stomach, and braced herself as she felt the strings being tightened. Yuffie already had a very thin frame to begin with, so there was not much to pull.

“The suitors... I mean, the guests are coming,” Yuffie replied in a strained voice. “Tifa will not be happy. Most of them will be old.”

“Do you want to be in her place?” Scarlet asked.

The corset was fastened, and Yuffie was relieved that she still has some breathing room. The petticoats came afterwards, one by painstaking one.

Scarlet cleared her throat and picked up where she left off. “At five o’clock, the majority of the guests will be arriving. The princess will meet with them in the great room at seven. I hope you shall dress her pretty.”

“I organized her entire wardrobe for the week...”

“You will be with the princess the whole time. All you have to do is follow her around for the whole of the evening. Put her to bed no later than midnight. Also, over the past few months, Lady Cassius interviewed and chose three noblewomen to accompany the princess. She is of age now, and it is about time she received her ladies-in-waiting.”

“How delightful!” Yuffie sang (rather sarcastically).

Another maid knocked on the door, and the housekeeper of the palace commanded her to enter. She came into the room, holding a stack of folded clothes: a bronze day dress, some ribbons, and a dark brown shawl. On top of the stack was a thin book, the schedule of the week. She set it on the nightstand.

“Ah, good!” Scarlet cooed. “You came just in time. Help this girl into her dress.”

The maidservant nodded and joined her colleague. Scarlet folded the paper up and set it on the nightstand, next to the book.

“This book is your official schedule for the rest of the week. Ignore the pages of today; it was written before these changes were made.”

Yuffie wanted to nod, but the two maids were lifting the dress over her head. The dress fit perfectly. Scarlet grinned and prepared to make her leave.

“Lady Napier?” Yuffie uttered curiously.

“What?”

“Why is the princess being moved so early?”

Scarlet hesitated to answer. One maid was smoothing out the dress, while the other buttoned up the back. Yuffie waited patiently.

“It is a matter of security,” Scarlet said.

 

 

Meanwhile, Tifa was sitting on her bedroom floor, wide-awake. She wondered if she would ever sleep again.

As luck would have it, she had the company and comfort of her pet feline, who made himself at home on her lap. Tifa aimlessly ran her fingers through his fur, and he purred quietly. From time to time, he looked up at her with dark, kitty eyes, bringing a weak smile to her face. But when he rested his head downward, it disappeared. Tifa leaned her head against the side of the bed.

A small thump from outside made her jump in fright and the cat mewed in protest. She put her hand to her heart and took deep breaths.

The dream kept playing itself in her head. That strange palace. The attackers. The long hallways. The paintings. The mirrors. All that blood… And the events of the night were strong in her memory. Was that man a mere figment of her imagination? Was it not a dream after all? No, it could not be. It must not be.

Unless…

“The piano!” Tifa cried.

The cat slipped off of her lap as she stood up. Tifa wriggled into her robe and marched out of her bedroom with fresh, new, brave determination. The living area was her target, and the cat was trotting at her heels.

The piano! All she needed to see (or not see) was that blooming piano! If there was no piano, then at least, everything that happened in her suite last night was a dream! Then she could put it all behind her. And if there was piano, she could cope with that too… somehow.

But she had to know! She just had to know!

Tifa came up to the living room doors, grabbed both handles, and flung them open. Inside the living room, a group of maids, probably more than half a dozen, were standing at the corner, surrounding something. They all turned their heads in a frazzled state.

“Good morning, your majesty,” they greeted.

The maidservants curtsied before her with their heads low. Tifa, however, was too busy trying to look over their backs. They composed themselves, and the most outspoken of them raised her voice.

“You are up early, princess. Are you ready to take your bath now? We can prepare it right away…”

Tifa stepped closer, with a curious and slightly suspicious look on her face.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

The maids winced, and then, Tifa knew something was afoot. Reluctantly and slowly, they stepped out of the way, letting her see the object of interest. The princess gasped when she saw it; the white piano stood its ground. It was opened, and the ivory keys stared back at her, as if they were sneering at her. She walked towards it, and the maids stepped back a little further, just to give her more room.

Tifa reached out skeptically and touched its top. She felt the cool of its surface and took her hand back, putting it to her lips. The maidservants talked sporadically.

“We have no idea where it came from,” one confessed to her. “I never saw it being brought in.”

“Perhaps, it is a gift from the king,” pondered another. “Or maybe from the crown prince. They always slip in gifts now and then.”

“If they had,” a third argued, “Scarlet would have informed us. She always does. Not to mention that we found it early this morning. They never sneak in their presents **that** early… and not in such a manner…. well, the crown prince might… but he is not expected until ten o’clock.”

“Then how do you explain this? A piano cannot just roll itself into a room and make itself comfortable, eh? Who brought it in?”

“An overzealous suitor, perhaps?”

“This is no time for silly jokes!”

Tifa retreated clumsily from the piano. She stumbled back so visibly that the maids were brought to alarm.

“Princess!”

Tifa put her hand over her forehead. Her heartbeat quickened.

 _It was not dream!_ her thoughts shouted. _Oh my God, it was real!_

She turned on her heels and rushed out of the room without a word. The maids watched in amazement.

“What is the matter with her?”

Meanwhile, the cat was doing his best to dodge all their feet.

 

 

A whirlwind later, Tifa felt something soft being propped behind her back. She groaned and brushed her bangs out of her face. Someone stroked her other hand. In the corner of her bedroom, a maid was preparing the tea.

“Your face is so white.” a sweet voice asked. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I do not know,” Tifa replied.

She craned her neck against the pillow. Yuffie was sitting with her on the bed, feeling very uncomfortable in her dress. Tifa clenched her teeth under her lips. She tried to move her legs but felt some weight on her thighs. Her pet feline lay stretched out over her lap.

“Why is tea being prepared here?” Tifa inquired.

“The kitchen is rather busy at the moment,” Yuffie explained. “And our schedule got turned on its ear. Besides, it will be fresher this way.”

Tifa grunted in understanding. The cat moved about on her lap and yawned.

“If I did not know any better,” Yuffie declared, “I would say that the puss is entirely devoted to you.”

“There were intruders in my suite last night,” Tifa said quietly.

Yuffie let go of her hand and went stiff. Her lips parted.

“I-intruders?” she stammered. “No one ever told me about…”

“No one else knows but me.”

They spoke too quietly for the maid to hear. The sound of hot water, being poured, drowned them out.

“I saw two men in the living area last night,” Tifa whispered. “One of them… one of them tried to attack me… but the other stabbed him before I could be harmed…”

Yuffie grabbed her mistress’ by the face and drew her closer. “Why have you not told anyone about this?”

“I fainted.”

“And when you woke up?”

“I was in my bed.”

Yuffie shook her head in disbelief. “You must have been dreaming.”

“It was not a dream!” Tifa shouted. “It really happened!”

“Are you alright,” she asked her mistress again.

“No, I am not! People are trying to kill me!”

Now, Yuffie was the one to grow pale. The maid turned her head in distress and stopped working. She clutched a small pocket watch in her hand. The two ladies forgot to keep their voices down.

 “You said that one of the men was stabbed,” Yuffie argued. “So why is there no blood in the living area?”

“There are ways to clean blood,” Tifa replied. “And besides… blood or not, I know it was real.”

“Why?”

“Because the piano was already there by then.”

The room became silent. The maid went back to her job. She looked behind her shoulder from time to time.

“So that must be why,” Yuffie murmured.

“What?” Tifa asked.

“Your father has ordered for you to be removed from the suite… today. Scarlet mentioned something about ‘a matter of security’.”

Tifa grew bright red in the face. She pursed her lips together.

“I have never seen you turn that color before,” Yuffie said timidly.

“That old fart!” Tifa cursed. “I knew he _was_ hiding something from me!”

And the Prince of Kiel had truly lied to her as well?

 The two ladies heard a small squeak from the corner of the room. The maid realized she was noticed and became terrified.

“What is it?” Tifa asked (in a demanding tone). “You have something to say?”

The maid shook her head in refusal.

“Come on, now,” Tifa insisted. “Out with it!”

“Oh, Scarlet will be so angry if I tell,” the maidservant peeped.

“I will protect you.”

The maid stood there for a moment. She looked at her pocket watch, scurried over to the door, and checked to see if anyone (more specifically, Scarlet) was outside. She shut it behind her and let everything slip. Tifa listened intently.

“…And there he was,” she said. “Lying in the grass… dead! There was no murder weapon, no suspects, no anything. The only clue we have is a man who had silver hair and was wearing all black.”

“Silver hair and black clothing, you say?”

The maid bobbed her head up and down.

“The man who attacked me,” Tifa told Yuffie, “Matches that exact description. Someone _is_ trying to kill me!”

She focused on the maid again and asked, “And this all happened in the southwest part of the grounds?”

The maid nodded. “That is why the king desires to move you. He believes you might be in danger.”

“And why does he feel that I do not deserve to know about it?”

“Pardon, your majesty?”

“Why would he automatically think in danger?” Tifa asked incredulously. “There has been plenty of violent excitement near this suite in the past, and Father never bothered to move me then. There must be more to it than what has happened. Last night proved that to me.”

“Umm,” the maid muttered.

“What now?”

“Actually… the person who was in danger that morning… it was not you. It was Lord Baldemar.”

Tifa and Yuffie looked at each other in surprise and bewilderment.

“Lord Baldemar?” Tifa repeated.

“That is not the only thing,” the maid continued. “There ‘ave been rumors of very strange, unnatural foreigners running about. It happens to be the talk of Royals and Hafen.”

Tifa narrowed her eyes. “Unnatural?”

The maidservant nodded submissively. Tifa stroked her chin with a quizzical brow. Yuffie recognized the expression with dismay.

“Now, things are starting to make sense now,” Tifa whispered. “So that is why Father wanted that artist to be followed. My painting must have something to do with it, eh?”

_The man who rescued me looks exactly the boy in my painting._

“Are we about to play detective again?” Yuffie asked nervously.

“Detective?”

“Remember what happened five years ago? We got into so much trouble.”

“That was different, Yuffie. We were two girls trying to investigate a rumor. This is a matter of life or death.”

Yuffie lowered her head. “You have a point there, but…”

“Ehem.”

Tifa and Yuffie turned their heads. The maid had a cup of tea in her hand; hot steam was coming off of it. Tifa saw that is was a flowery, porcelain cup, so she took it carefully in both hands.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “And but what? Do I not have the right to know why my life is in danger?”

Yuffie closed her eyes in thought. Below them, the cat let out a fully agreeing meow. Tifa smiled in delight and scratched him behind the ears.

“Well!” she said. “At least **someone** sympathizes with me.”

Tifa put the cup under her nose and sniffed lightly. Once again, it did not smell like her usual, grassy medicine tisane. She put the cup to her lips and took a small sip. As she expected, the taste was different again.

“Oh, all right,” Yuffie replied. “When you put it that way… I have to help you. But… if your life is in danger, Princess… maybe this is not such a good idea… playing detective on such a serious matter…”

“We are not playing detective,” Tifa corrected. “We are merely getting to the bottom of this.”

“That was what you said last time,” her companion recalled.

Tifa frowned but pretended not to hear. She studied the flavor of the tea in her cup. It reminded her of apples and cinnamon.

“It is settled then,” Tifa stated. “Tell the maids that I will have my bath now. Afterwards, let us have breakfast… and then, we can question the Lord Baldemar.”

“Wait a minute,” Yuffie interrupted. “I have a tight schedule. We have to pick out the items you want to take to your new suite…and I have to deliver it to the master of workers.”

“Why would you concern yourself with such a trivial thing?”

“Well, if we try to skip it… someone might realize what we are doing and try to put a stop to it.”

Tifa rolled her eyes and made a move to climb out of bed. The cat slipped off of her lap and leapt onto the floor. She put on her slippers and strolled over to her vanity in a shrewd, business like manner. She gently set her cup on the counter surface.

Tifa opened the vanity drawer, took out a few items, and finally pulled out a sheet of paper, with tidy handwriting. She grabbed a bottle of black ink and a nib, filled the nib, and wrote something else on the page. As soon as she was done, Tifa blew on it to make the ink dry faster.

“Let me see your schedule,” she commanded.

Yuffie obediently pulled her schedule from the neck of her dress and went to her mistress’ side. Tifa snatched it out of her hand and flung it open with the shake of her wrist. She briefly scanned over it handed it back.

“This is how we will proceed,” Tifa decided. “Tell the maids to prepare my bath right now. While you are getting our breakfast, give this to the master of workers.”

Tifa held out the paper to her companion. To her happy surprise, Yuffie realized that the paper was a well-thought, fully comprised list of everything the princess wanted to bring to her next suite. Yuffie noticed that some of the ink had dried a long time ago.

“I have been composing this list since last year,” Tifa revealed.

Yuffie sighed in relief. “You have absolutely no idea how hard Scarlet was making it for me!”

“And now, we have till 9:30 to find Lord Baldemar.”

“Good, that is plenty of time.”

The cat watched them for a moment with his head tilted to the side. While no one noticed, he got off his haunches and sauntered away. The door was opened ajar, so with natural feline prowess, the cat slipped right through and was gone. 


	7. VI: Vibrations of a black lily

Cissnei stood poised as she looked out the window in amazement.

Storm clouds were forming rapidly, coming towards the city. The bright, cheery day that had been promised by sunrise quickly fled away and was replaced by a suffocating gray. Even the air was becoming unpleasant; it tasted stale. The menservants quickened their pace at the sudden change in weather.

She opened a colorful, flowery fan and hid her red-painted lips behind it. Her face was hardened in a concerned scowl. Something was very wrong.

Cissnei heard a distinctive sound of footsteps coming toward her and a feeling of disgust came over her. The footsteps were strange, and the feet were shuffling over the tile of the floor. And only one dreadful man was known for such a distasteful habit.

“Ah, Lady Ravenel,” Hojo greeted in a sultry manner. “So nice to come across you at a time like this.”

Cissnei reluctantly looked her master in the eye and held her mouth shut. Hojo smirked in a sly, domineering fashion and came closer until there was barely a few inches between them. She swallowed air. He leaned slightly, and in her ear, he whispered:

“What do you see outside the window?”

The color left her face, and she answered, “The weather has changed drastically.”

Hojo chuckled in agreement. “Do you know why that is strange, my dear?”

Cissnei managed to nod while barely moving her stiffened neck. Hojo put his hand on her shoulder.

“Then tell me,” he commanded.

She let the fan fall from her shaky hand. It hung by a chain that was fastened to her dress.

“Father Kisaragi,” she began. “Father Kisaragi predicted that the weather would be good and favorable for the birthday of Her Highness. How comes it then that it is about to rain?”

“Do you care to know why?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

Hojo let his smile grow wider, to the point that it appeared crazed. Cissnei flinched and wanted to move away.

“I like that in you,” he snickered. “You never concern yourself with such trivial things.”

He pushed even closer to her and planted a kiss on her cheekbone. Cissnei reacted in a flash; she shoved him away from her and moved her hand to swat him in the face. Hojo shot out his hand and snatched her wrist, holding it in an iron grip. Cissnei recoiled and tried to escape his hold.

“That is not how you behave towards your benefactor,” he sneered. “Just remember. If it were not for me, you would have died in the gutters of Hafen.”

“That does not give you the right to do as you please with me!” she snapped. “Release me!”

“Say please.”

Cissnei gritted her teeth and was tempted to spit. But that would have only made things worse.

“Come, my dear,” he said, in a softer tone. “There is no need to be like this. Have you not considered the favorable position I have offered you?”

“Take your ‘favorable position’ and give it to your wife,” she hissed.

Hojo frowned darkly, and his smile vanished. His grip tightened.

“That woman,” he muttered in contempt. “Ah, that woman! She is actually quite selfish… have you ever realized that? That woman,” he continued in contempt, “All she cares for are money and prestige… and in all these years, she has never understood what it means to have such things. And to make matters worse, she is fanatically convinced that the world revolves around her… her and her self-created tragedy…”

“What does that have to do with me?” Cissnei barked. “I…”

Hojo inched even closer, the disgusting glee appearing back on his face. Cissnei shuddered and bit her lip.

“Quite right,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you. Is that not splendid?”

“L-let me go!” she cried. “I want nothing to do with this!”

His grasping hands clenched torturously around her wrists, and Cissnei gasped in pain. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and her eyes widened in fright.

“Think carefully before you make such an answer,” Hojo warned. “Have you never stopped to think if you truly have a choice in the matter?”

Cissnei choked in realization and quivered in fear. He was right. Everything that she had gained, all of what she had managed to achieve… was thanks to his so-called charity and her constant obedience. And if she dared refuse, he would… he might…

Hojo pressed his pointy nose against her dainty one. “So, what will it be?”

Cissnei shut her eyes tight and shifted her head to the side, so at least she would not have to look upon his face. But as the dreaded nose brushed against her cheek, she could not suppress the shivering.

“N-n-no. No! Do not force this on me!” she stammered in a helpless plea. “I cannot. How could I live with myself if I committed such a wicked…”

Cissnei heard the approaching sound of running footsteps and stopped. To her relief, Hojo released her and put some distance between them. She turned around to face whomever was there, and was surprised to see a very young girl, no more than ten at most, coming in their direction.

This girl, wherever she came from, trotted diligently towards them as if she had not been noticed. Though one could clearly hear her shoes hitting the tile floor, her body seemed to float and bounce like a bubble; perhaps, it was the flutter of in her pale, jade dress. She came closer, closer, even closer… and the two adults before her remained at a loss.

“H-here, dear girl,” Cissnei said, regaining her voice. “What are you doing running about by yourself? Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The girl ignored her prying questions and continued at the same pace, even as she was about to pass between them. Without missing a step or slowing down, she opened her pretty little mouth and sang:

“She is much too young for you… old man!”

Then, she had completely overtaken them and her back faced their bewildered eyes. The end of the hall and a solid wall with no turns lay ahead of her.

Hojo stood in shock for a few seconds, until the statement fully registered in his brain. He rose out of his confused stupor with a mixture of annoyance and indignation and marched forward in an attempt to catch up with her.

“Why you insolent little…!” he spat. “You get back here, young lady, so I can teach you how to respect your elders!”

But the girl kept on her merry way, not at all minding his angered voice or the wall she was seemingly about to crash into. Cissnei saw her opportunity and prepared to make a run for it. And suddenly, when the girl made contact with the wall, she stepped right into it as if it were not solid brick! She disappeared into the wall, like a heavy object being lost in murky water, and every trace of her small body vanished along with her.

Once again, the advisor and his frazzled subordinate were left dumb and speechless.

Cissnei recovered faster, and before Hojo could remember her, she twirled around and took off as fast as she could manage to run. Despite the situation, no matter how fantastic or lucky it was, she was at least grateful to the bizarre event and the perfect sense of timing.

Nevertheless, she knew very well, certainly, without a shadow of doubt what had taken place before her. Cissnei had just seen someone from Over There.

 

 

Yuffie opened a side door in a hall and ushered the Princess through the threshold. The door gave way to a flight of concrete steps, which led to a wide tunnel of store floor and wall. The air smelled like the outside, and as Tifa walked down, she felt a small breeze pushing at her. Yuffie followed and quietly shut the door. She stopped to light a lantern she was carrying.

“Are you sure that Lord Baldemar is on the northwest of the grounds?” Tifa asked anxiously.

“I cannot be certain,” Yuffie replied with a shrug. “I am only relying on word of mouth… but the person I spoke to insisted that he went to the solarium. There are guards posted around it too.”

Yuffie reached the bottom of the steps and wrapped her arm securely with her mistress’. At the end of the tunnel, there was a glimmer of light up ahead. They trudged onward with the wind goading at their backs.

“I never knew these tunnels existed,” Tifa said in astonishment. “How many did you say they were? Four of them?”

“Aye, Princess,” Yuffie answered. “You do know that the entirety of Ulbrecht Palace is built based upon the very position of Gelinde on the globe?”

“Of course… that is common knowledge even to the lowliest baron. So, the direction we are heading points to the northwest of Gelinde. But why did I never find out about these tunnels?”

Yuffie, for a moment, would not answer. Tifa became silent and focused on the light up ahead.

 _Where is my pet feline?_ she wondered. _Where did he run off to?_

“Need not to know,” Yuffie muttered.

“What is that?” Tifa asked.

“The tunnels are used only for the likes of servants and their ‘unsightly’ duties,” Yuffie explained. “It is only in case of necessity that a royal would use such a place. His kingship probably… most likely knows of these tunnels… perhaps, the Prince too. But the young princess? It pains me to say this, but they would not bother telling you about it.”

Tifa lowered her head gravely and changed the subject:

“And this is the northern tunnel?”

“Yes. Exactly parallel to the southern tunnel. Both are built within ‘pockets’ of the walls of Ulbrecht, and the eastern and western tunnels are underground. The northern grounds are empty, so no one should take notice of us until we reach the solarium.”

Tifa covered her mouth and chuckled. Yuffie frowned curiously.

“What amuses you so much?” she inquired.

“Nothing much,” Tifa replied. “I was simply remembering… they say that Ulbrecht Palace is meant to be the guiding compass that all of Gelinde should follow. Up till now, I never stopped to think how literal the phrase truly was!”

Yuffie jolted and returned an agreeing smile. They pulled each other closer and snickered like normal schools on truancy. And then, a small pair of hands reached out and hugged Tifa by the waist.

Tifa cried out in shock and flayed about. Yuffie gasped sharply and shined her light upon whatever had caused the disturbance. The arms kept a gentle hold as if nothing was wrong. The tunnel was filled with the laughter of a little girl.

Below them, just below the chest, was the little girl in the fluttering, jade dress… who was happy and highly pleased with her mischief. The Princess and her companion gave each other a glance that said:

“What in the name of heaven is this?!”

“Again!” the girl demanded. “Scream like that again!”

Yuffie cleared her throat and fixed a serious look on her face. She took hold of the girl and tried to pry her off of Tifa.

“Look here, child,” Yuffie scolded. “You cannot go running about and clinging to strange people! Do you have any idea who this is?!”

The girl loosened her grip and quietly let go. Her eyes blinked rapidly.

“Are you Princess Tifa Nicolette Marjorie Lockheart-Shinra?” she asked in monotone.

“Eh?!” Tifa managed to say, and thought, _To think that even a small girl can memorize my entire name._

“Are you?”

“Well… yes, I am.”

The girl perked up again and grinned. She sprang forward and latched onto Tifa again, much to the annoyance of Yuffie.

“Thank goodness!” she chirped. “Marlene almost thought she had the wrong the person.”

Tifa cocked her head. “Marlene?”

In the background, Yuffie bit her lip and restrained herself from growling. She reached out to put distance between them again, but Tifa put out a hand, signaling her stop.

The girl leaned back and pointed to herself. “Marlene is Marlene.”

Tifa paused for a moment and replied, “Should you not say ‘I am Marlene’?”

Marlene tilted her head and asked, “Why?”

“Because it is only proper,” she told her. “And people might think that you lack maturity.”

Marlene let go and stepped back. She gave Tifa an incredulous look, folded her skinny arms, and then glared to the side.

“His majesty once told Marlene,” she rejoined, “That those who claim that others lack maturity often lack maturity themselves.”

Tifa opened her mouth in speechlessness. Yuffie, who felt that her mistress had just been blatantly insulted, prepared to chide the girl once more, but Tifa began to laugh. She leaned over to touch the little she-goblin on the head; her hand moved slowly.

All the while she wondered:

_His majesty? Does she mean Father?_

Marlene turned to meet her gaze, and Tifa stopped dead. Around her dainty neck, Marlene was wearing a cross pendant. A distinctive cross pendant. Tifa grabbed the cross and pulled it to the light.

“Oh, do you like it?” Marlene asked.

The cross, as Tifa suspected, was made of platinum gold. And it looked exactly like the pendant she saw in her dreams. The pendant that that woman had clutched in her hands. The chain fell and dangled from her hand. Tifa looked up and saw that Marlene had unfastened it.

“It is a gift from his majesty. He told Marlene to give it to you right away.”

Tifa grasped the chain and let the pendant hang from it. She examined it more closely, thinking that she might be mistaken. It was a logical assumption.

“This trinket is a gift from his majesty?” Yuffie questioned in disbelief. “Tis lovely, but it does not match his taste.”

Tifa narrowed her eyes at her begleiter and droned, “Is that a bad thing?” She smiled at Marlene and said, “I do like it. Tell my father that I am thankful.”

Marlene stared blankly at her in reply. A few seconds passed, and then, after a spark of realization brightened her face, she burst out laughing. Tifa was taken aback.

“No!” she corrected. “Not your ‘his majesty’. Marlene was speaking of her ‘his majesty’.”

“And who might that be?” Tifa asked, thoroughly confused. _Is this child from Kiel?_

Marlene put a pair of coy fingers to her lips and batted her eyes. “You do not know? Marlene thought you hung his portrait on the walls of your suite.”

The princess felt her heart skip a beat, and for a moment, she forgot to breath. _It cannot be!_ she thought. _Can it possibly… could this girl really be referring to…_

When she saw that her words had hit home, Marlene abruptly took to her heels and ran to the end of the tunnel. Tifa snapped out of her daze and watched her retreating form. She hesitated, taking a few steps forward, and then, she picked up the skirt of her dress and made chase.

Yuffie followed after without saying a word, holding the lantern in front of her. Tifa only relied on the light at the end of the darkness.

“Wait a minute!” Tifa cried. “Come back here! What do you mean? Have you seen him too?”

As she came closer to Marlene and the end of the tunnel, the path became increasingly clearer. The light was like a pure blanket of white, and Tifa could hardly see what was up ahead. A few yards later, the end had swallowed them both.

Yuffie came to the end seconds later and reached the outside. She slowed down, coming to a leisurely stop, and her eyes moved keenly around her persons.

“Princess!” Yuffie called out. “Princess! Where are you?!”

The girl was gone. And so was Tifa.

 

 

Meanwhile, a sea of elegant coaches and carriages flooded through the palace gates and onto the paved roads of the grounds. At the entrance of Ulbrecht, scores of the nobility (many proud, some snooty, and the others gaudily dressed) were helped out of their carriages by footmen and politely ushered into the foyer. Their luggage would be handled elsewhere.

Among the coaches that were just entering the palace, a large, dark brown one came to a steady pace; the driver pulled at the reigns, commanding his two horses to slow down. The occupants of the coach, two fine women, noticed the sudden shift and prepared for their arrival.

The first woman, a beautiful flower of a girl, was dressed almost completely in rose pink; her dress was tastefully adorned with magenta bows. She wore a white bolero jacket, all buttoned up, and a pair of neutral pink gloves. She wore no make-up and needed none.

The other woman was peculiarly dressed in dark, masculine attire: a vest, bowtie, jacket, pants, and loafers. Her blonde hair was in a bob cut. A white purse rested on her small lap, and a hat sat next to her. A pistol and holster were strapped to her hip. Her eyes were forever trained on her mistress.

The coach was unpleasantly quiet. In contrast with her cheery clothing and radiant loveliness, the beautiful girl was roughly wiping leftover tears from her powder white cheeks and her pretty, green eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. Her companion saw that the cloth had become damp and retrieved a spare from the purse.

“Put it back, Elena,” the girl said. “I do not need it.”

Nevertheless, another identical handkerchief was held out to her in insistence. She reached reluctantly for it, and her companion clasped her hand.

“Your highness, please,” Elena begged. “Get a grip! It cannot be helped.”

“I cannot endure it!” she shouted angrily. “Why is he doing such a thing?!”

“It cannot be helped. We must follow his judgment.”

“How can I?! Why should I?! I am not the only one who is adamantly against this! Even brother…”

The girl paused and hung her head low; her body trembled in rage. She pulled her hand away, taking the fresh handkerchief and completely cleaning her face.

“Even brother disapproves,” she continued. “And why should he not? This is not only because my heart breaks… or because it stains our royal name. This is a direct affront to the women of our kind!”

“True,” Elena nodded assent. “But that has not deterred him. Nor has it changed his decision.”

The girl clenched her teeth, her temper threatening to reach its limit. She fought back more tears that were trying to escape and squeezed the cloth in her hand.

“How could he do such a dishonorable thing?” she hissed. “How could he choose **her** over all of the women in Dammerung? How could he choose her over me…?”

She shook her head in violent disbelief, her brown curls swaying and bobbing. Her face hardened, and a fire burned in her eyes.

Elena averted her eyes. _You could never handle a man like him, your highness. But surely, a girl like that is even less equipped for the task… surely, right?_

 

 

Tifa had stopped chasing… or rather, she was so surprised that she briefly forgot how to move her legs altogether. Her surroundings had changed in almost every possible way, from the ground under her feet to the very scent in the air. There was no sign of Yuffie or the mysterious girl who called herself Marlene. The pendant was still in her hand.

Yes, it was safe to assume that she had once again left the kingdom of Gelinde and gone somewhere far away. She braced herself for something to happen.

Tifa quickly realized that she was in a room of some sort. By the layout of it, it appeared to be an elaborate parlor room. It was decorated warmly with cozy but elegant furniture, gold motifs scattered here and there, excellent looking paintings, and a delightfully strange grandfather clock. The marble-tiled floor looked like a chessboard, with grayish white and deep jungle green. The walls were painted in cream.

 _This is a pleasant room,_ Tifa thought, despite herself. _As least, there is no blood or carnage in the scenery._

A glimmer of color caught her eye, a color that did not match the splendor of the room. She turned and saw a large mass of bright fabric, strewn all over a table and slung over a chair. Tifa casually ventured in the direction of the table to have a closer look and recognized a flurry of ridiculous white bows and ribbons, garish yellow fabric, and ugly sleeves (severed)… along with the stripped, inner fabric of a dress and undone thread.

In other words, the former horror of her ball gown… wonderfully dissected. Tifa smiled in glee.

In the distance, she heard the chime of a bell.

“Well, this is a pleasure,” a man declared. “I did not expect you to be here so soon.”

Tifa froze upon hearing his voice. Footsteps came towards her. By the strange, lack of inflection in his voice, the man that was slowly walking up behind her…

She made a move to turn and face him, but a pair of slender arms wrapped around her stomach and tugged her backwards. She let out a startled squeal, and her arms flailed about. The bell shook.

“No matter,” he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “At least I am very happy to see you. We live in a reality full of so many surprises…”

Another familiar thing caught her attention: that odd fragrance. That sweet, potent fragrance that she had smelled many times before…

“What are you talking about?” Tifa asked nervously. “I…”

Tifa became aware of the fact that he was no longer holding on to her. Her body was able to move properly again. She turned, searching for him, and saw him close by, with his back to her. From what she could gather from his initial appearance, he seemed harmless.

But last night was still fresh in her mind. And…

_How did he get there so fast?_

The man stood over a vase of odd, dark flowers; from a distant, their petals looked completely black. He bent down to smell them, and Tifa heard the bell ring again.

 _That bell,_ she thought. _That bell is definitely…_

“There are exactly thirteen lilies inside this vase,” he told her. “Do you know why?”

Tifa lost her train of thought. “What?”

“Usually,” he said, “Your people consider that number to be a harbinger of misfortune. They do not realize… that after the Christ chose his twelve disciples, there were thirteen people in the group. If you look at it that way, it is not a bad number to go by.”

He hummed, taking in more of the aroma, and then strained his neck to stare at her over his shoulder. Tifa winced and became self-conscious. His eyes became like slits.

“Something is bothering me,” he admitted.

“I beg your pardon?” she squeaked.

The man came back towards her, hands folded behind him. His face was blank once again, but his eyes had a stern look to them. Tifa swallowed.

“What?” she asked. “What? What?!”

He closed in on her without answering… came into the circle of her personal space. Tifa felt the hairs on her neck standing up; this was too close for her comfort. He leaned over until their faces were inches apart. The bell rang.

“What are you…?!”

The man gently cupped her chin and raised her head. His eyes softened, and he nodded in satisfaction. His eyes were just like…

“There,” he said stoically. “I finally got a proper view of your lovely face.”

Tifa flushed bright, rose red. “Stop it!”

She closed her eyes and pushed him away, only to have him take a firm grasp of her wrist by the time she opened them. The pendant swung from her hand.

“Are you planning on holding on to that all day?” he inquired. “Or shall I help you put it on?”

Her face turned even more crimson, and her nostrils flared. She turned up her nose and huffed, “I can do it myself.” She slipped it over her head and did just that. “And who says I wanted it? I am sure that the piano is more than enough!”

He furled and eyebrow at her and said, “Do I detect a hint of anger in you?”

“Why not?!” she snapped. “You stole my first kiss!”

The man rolled his eyes and traipsed on over to the table to marvel at the dismembered dress. She watched intently. He lifted a piece of yellow cloth from the table.

“Oh, lighten up, dear girl,” he retorted. “The first kiss is often the worst kiss anyway.”

The bell sang out, matching the beating of her heart. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

 _If that bell is what I think it is,_ she mused, _then what is it doing here? What does it mean?_

Tifa cleared her throat and prodded, “Where is that sound coming from?”

The man stopped. He put his hand into his coat, letting the cloth hang from his other arm. He pulled something out, examined it for a moment, and then held it up for her to see. The blue ribbon shinned lustrously.

“Do you mean **this**?”

It was most definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, the bell that belonged to her cat. Tifa staggered back and covered her mouth with the ring of her fist. He turned his head slightly, and she saw an amused grin on his lips.

“Wha… why?” Tifa mumbled in a shaky voice. “Why do you… why do you have that?”

“Why do I have it, I wonder?” he replied mockingly.

 _That bell!_ she pondered. _That scent! You…_

The man stuck the bell back into the pocket of his coat and resumed looking at the yellow fabric. Tifa had herself another deep breath, exhaled, and mustered the nerve to speak again. She took a few, daring steps closer to him.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He became very still. Tifa could sense that he had ceased all movement. She wondered if the question had had some sort of affect on him. With a sliver of more bravery and some curiosity, she came a bit closer… her hands folded to her chest.

“Who…” she began.

“That question annoys me,” he replied in a snarky tone.

Tifa gulped and felt heat growing along her cheeks and on her ears. She watched him put the fabric back on the table and pick up a long ribbon. As she stretched it in his hands, something rose in her. Something that was different from anger, fear, or even a remote sense of indignation.

“Then why are you doing this?!” Tifa exclaimed. “Why do you keep bringing me to this place?”

“I brought you here?” the man said. “Has it not been you who has been coming here by your own power?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she snarled.

“I said exactly what I meant,” he answered nonchalantly.

She shook her head curtly. “I have no such power!”

“Oh really?”

The tension in the ribbon went slack, and he started to tremble. He slammed his palms against the table, knocking down the bow that was near the edge. Tifa jumped back. He stood there, bent over the table, with his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. His breathing became strange.

“You,” he muttered, and lowering his head, “I could just… I could just…”

And then, he slowly grew still again. He sighed gently and became calm. Tifa felt herself relax a little, but she was puzzled and concerned.

“Have I said something to offend you?” Tifa asked politely.

He lifted up the ribbon again and let it hang in a curve. “I know you do not like yellow, but perhaps, we could have this made into a nice, summer dress. We could have a diaphanous blue sewn over it. Or we could have it used to make pillows or quilt material… or maybe even decoration. Which would you prefer? Do you have any suggestions?”

He craned his head and met her eyes. “So? Which would you…”

“Aster… Raziel… Maverick…Fundelstein,” she uttered.

His face turned cold.

“I have good memory,” she said. “That is the name of that boy in the portrait. You look exactly like him? Is he you?”

No answer. Tifa puffed air through her nose.

“Even so,” she went on, “That name means nothing to me. It tells me nothing about you? Why are you here? Why did you save me? Who… who are you?”

He jerked his head away, saying nothing at first. His hands dropped to his sides, the ribbon barely staying above the ground.

“Who am I?” he said. “Well…”

The ribbon dropped to the floor, and he disappeared right before her eyes. Tifa drew her breath in bewilderment. She rushed to where he had been standing, and from there, she frantically scanned the parlor. Was he really gone?

Tifa then found herself feeling slightly downcast. “Where did you…?”

“Who am I?” came a whisper.

Tifa practically hopped an entire half circle. No one was behind her. **That** was no surprise.

“Who am I?” he whispered again. “ **Who** am I?”

This situation was eerily familiar. The room almost seemed to grow larger and more intimidating around her. Her heartbeat became heavy and overbearing; she almost feared that it would burst.

“Who am I?” he repeated, slowly but more menacingly. “I could just…”

“S-stop it,” Tifa murmured.

“Who am I? You… are…”

Tifa put her hands over her ears and yelled. “Stop it!”

The world went pitch-black. His hands reached out and clamped onto her shoulders. She was unable to even let out a yelp.

“Your very existence,” he muttered, “Is an eyesore.”

Tifa swerved around, breaking his hold. A disturbing, wide smile was on his face. Before she could try to escape, he grabbed her and used his body weight to knock her off balance. They both started to fall to the ground.

“I love you more than anyone else,” he said playfully. “I hate you more than anyone else. I could just kill you…”

Her back collided with the ground, and he hissed (mostly out of shock rather than actual pain). She grabbed his wrists and tried to pry his hands away from her.

“Remember now,” he said to her, the deranged smile growing bigger, “You and I are a part of each other. So, I always have and always will be watching you!”

“Please, let me go!” Tifa pleaded.

She thrust his hands off, but they reattached onto her arms. He hovered right over her; she was trapped. His smile subsided a little, and he let out a small chuckle.

“Is that fear I sense coming off of you?” he asked in deep tone. A hand nestled against her cheek… “Not that I mind at all” … and the other delicately pressed and ran its fingers down her arm. “It is high time that you learned the miracle of being human.”

Tifa realized that his hold on her was very loose. But she was not moving.

 _Why can I not budge?_ she panicked. _Has he done something to me?!_

“Fear… bravery… contentment…. longing… joy… despair. Those are the spheres that human souls live by. Which ones have you chosen?”

He touched her lips with his thumb, and she shut her eyes tight. His hands were calloused. The flowery scent was overwhelming.

 _That smell,_ she though. _I know you. You are…_

“Come now,” the man said. “Let us get another look at that pretty face.”

 

 

Tifa felt a shifting sensation in the air, and her eyes opened almost by themselves. She found herself standing inside of the solarium, surrounded by tall glass and green plants, right where she had been heading. She panted and fell to her knees.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?!” she mumbled, her thoughts overwrought. “Hate me? **Hate** me?!”

There she was, stuck with the feeling that she had been picked up, toyed with, and then unceremoniously dropped. It instilled a reasonable amount of terror in her, but to her astonishment, she felt a more potent sense of frustration. Pure, unadulterated frustration.

 _Why me?_ she lamented. _Why is this happening to me? What in the name of heaven is going on? Could you at least have told me that?_

“Your highness? Are you alright?”

Tifa looked and saw Lord Baldemar, standing nearby at the corner of the solarium. He walked briskly towards her and offered a hand to help her up, which she took happily.

“Tis nothing to worry about,” she lied. “I am fine.”

“Forgive me imprudence,” he said, amazed at himself. “I did not hear you enter.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Tifa insisted, and adding an embellishment, “I hardly make any noise anyway…”

She put on a tiny, relieved smile. Reno gave her his usual, cheeky grin. But then, he looked harder at her, and his expression twisted from cheery to mortified.

“Is something wrong?” she inquired innocently.

“That necklace,” he replied. “Where did you get that necklace?”

Tifa peered downward and remembered the cross pendant that was now around her neck.

“Aster gave it to me.”


	8. VII: All places are set

Lady Lucrecia Cassius took breakfast alone. The table was set in the balcony of the parlor room, a place that she and her husband supposedly shared. It had been several years since he had eaten with her in private, and even then, those mornings had been spent in silence. She stared at the empty seat across from her and let out a quiet sigh.

She was used to it.

She dug into a juicy half of grapefruit with a serrated-edged spoon, getting some of the pulp, and gently slurped it into her mouth. It was mildly sweet. Two maids were serving her with a cartful of pastries and a fresh pot of tea. Lucrecia had her eye on fruit filled croissants and small muffins. One maid poured a cup of tea, and the other made a small plate.

Lucrecia gingerly picked up her teacup and smelled the steam; the liquid had been brewed a tad too strong. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

 _The great advisor of the King of Gelinde indeed!_ she mused sarcastically. _And a good-for-nothing husband to boot! Where is that man right now, I wonder? Which silly courtier is he propositioning this time? Or perhaps he is bothering that poor councilwoman again…_

Lucrecia set the cup down. She closed her eyes and covered her pretty mouth.

 _But what about me?_ she worried. _What do I do now? What do I do now that I know all?! If I just stand and say nothing, and that husband of mine succeeds with his plan, I will most likely be discarded. And if I remain silent and he fails, I will risk being destroyed along with him! But if I try to report my discovery to Veld and His Majesty, I will have no proof! That husband of mine… hides himself so skillfully…_

Lucrecia did not have an appetite, but she forced herself to eat… for the sake of appearance. She picked up a croissant and nibbled on the buttery edge. It went down pleasant and delicious but became bitter in her stomach.

 _Is there any way out for me?_ she asked herself. _Is it really so hopeless that I must wait to be condemned. Do I truly have no options left? What is there that I **must** do?_

“Are you afraid?” a female voice asked. “Do you hate being so powerless?”

Lucrecia winced in surprise; the tone of this voice had been authoritative, taunting, and cheeky. She turned to look upon the maids, the only other persons in the room, and saw that they had stopped moving. She looked closer, wondering why they were not working, and quickly realized that something was amiss.

Neither of the maids moved an inch. They did not flinch, breathe, twitch their made up little heads, or even blink. It was almost as if they were frozen in place. Lucrecia lost her breath, and she searched for anything else that had gone abnormal. She found the clock on the other side of the parlor room; it had stopped ticking.

She heard a tapping sound coming from across the table. Someone was there. When she turned abruptly to face this person, Lucrecia saw an older woman sitting in the chair of her husband. She gasped and backed up hard against her seat.

The woman just sniggered and slid her finger through the dark silver strands of her bangs. Her full, red-painted lips curled into a cruel smirk.

“Wh-who…” Lucrecia stuttered. “Who are…”

“Hmmm!” the older woman replied. She stretched out her large but elegant hand and took a spoon from the sugar bowl. Lucrecia simply trembled and watched. She scooped a generous amount of sugar and dropped it into the teacup, and then she repeated the action four more times.

Lucrecia was stunned. No one but her personal maids knew that she enjoyed her tea with five spoonfuls of sugar; even her husband never paid attention. So she continued watching as the woman stirred the sugar around until it dissolved. Lucrecia noticed that she had long, claw-like fingernails painted in deep crimson.

“Your husband,” she told Lucrecia, “has a weak mind. You have the power to control him… if only you would let me show you…”

The woman let the spoon rest in the cup, and then, she vanished. Lucrecia gaped and stifled a scream. She heard the tick of the clock again and dishes clinked against the table.

“Lady Cassius, are you alright? You look pale…”

Lucrecia looked up and saw that one of her maids was staring down at her in concern. She nervously shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No, I am not.”

She added a splash of cream to her tea and accidentally spilled some of it onto the saucer.

 

 

Much to the delight of the workers, the back doors to the northern wing were finally opened up to them. They entered inside as quickly as possible, carrying the various items that belonged to the princess. Some were able to walk right in with a box, while a small group of men had to skillfully ease their way with one of her larger valuables.

Among these items was the mysterious, white piano.

While the menservants did their job, Shera escorted three young ladies into the wing and led them through the fray. They entered the foyer first, walked into hallway, and passed by an elegant sitting room; they sped past the room without taking a proper look at it.

Shera opened a door along their way and told the youngest of the girls:

“This will be your bedroom, Lady Gower.”

Lady Gower ventured into the room, smiling wide and relishing what was placed before her. The group left her behind to explore it.

The bedroom was relatively simple enough. It only had an escritoire in the corner, a couple of paintings, a door to a possible empty closet… and the largest bed she had ever seen! She pranced upon the bed first and touched its fancy, green coverlet. It felt like velvet.

She wanted to sit on it and feel how soft the mattress was, but she was too reluctant to wrinkle the sheets. Nevertheless, Lady Gower was satisfied for the moment. This was an adventure for her! A once in a lifetime opportunity! How many other girls wanted the chance to see the elusive Princess of Gelinde!

She giggled like a little toddler and ambled around the room. There was a hearty bounce in ever step she took, and she swung her arms like a branch moving in the breeze. Her frizzy, exotic hair wiggled at every movement. The other door was in her sights.

Lady Gower opened it and discovered that it was indeed a closet; her suitcases were already sitting inside. She closed it without looking any further and trotted to the escritoire. She opened up the drawers and saw white, pristine writing paper, bronze inkbottles, and a few bundles of spare quills.

 _I will write a letter to my grandmother tonight!_ she decided.

Someone knocked at the door, causing an unwelcomed stop to her happy experience. Lady Gower turned and saw that one of the other ladies had come back to see her. However, with her being very familiar with this certain girl, she was not hurting for the company.

“So, Priscilla, you have finally seen how this woman lives her life?” she said smugly.

Lady Gower gave her a dark look and closed the drawers. “Actually, I was expecting something a bit more showy. The simplicity makes it all the more grand.”

Her unwanted acquaintance was taken aback by her response. She had expected Priscilla to finally agree with her on a previous agreement that they shared.

“Besides, it is to be expected,” Priscilla considered. “After all, for the royal family, everything must be on a larger scale. They need to be set apart by the prestige.”

“Then, I suppose you have to be convinced by meeting her face to face!” the older girl retorted.

“I was about to say the same thing! When we meet the Princess, we will learn that there is a logical explanation of why she does not come outside palace walls. I am sure of it.”

“But…”

Priscilla huffed and turned up her nose. “Oh, I am so sick of your grousing! I cannot believe that you are older and more learned than me! You always judge people too quickly and too harshly!”

She then stood akimbo and sneered at the older girl. “Perhaps that is why few men like you, eh Jessie?”

Jessie fumed violently. She turned on her heels and rushed out without a word. Priscilla, who was highly pleased with herself, puffed out her chest and went on with her small tour. The window was next.

_I wonder if this bedroom has a good view of the lake…_

 

 

The solarium was uncomfortably noiseless. Tifa sat on a bench, her hands folded in her skirts, and waited for Reno to speak to her. He stood against the other end of the bench with his back to her and did not say a word. Why, she was not entirely sure.

 _Perhaps,_ Tifa considered, _he has no idea what to say. Or, he is too troubled to say anything at all._

She briefly wished that she always carried a fan like Lady Ravenel; it would have been handy to have something to strike her knee or at least something to occupy her hands.

“I…” Reno spoke.

Tifa jerked her head towards him.

“What can I say?” he chuckled distraughtly. “I am merely the small, lowly begleiter of the Prince of Kiel… who got himself into one large corker of a mess. And even that sounds like an understatement.”

“I see…” she answered empathetically.

He distractedly ruffled the back of his hair. “It began… so innocently. I never meant any harm, and I am quite certain that neither did he. It all happened so…”

“You mean Aster?” Tifa interrupted.

Reno stopped for moment. He briefly craned his head and gave her an unsteady glance. “Who else could I possibly mean?”

Tifa closed her eyes and nodded calmly. “I assumed as much.”

“So, you _have_ seen him,” he declared.

“He was… he was the one who dropped me off here!” she stammered. “And you?”

“Yes.”

Tifa swallowed and tried to gather her thoughts. _But… that painter said that the portrait was more than a hundred years old. What is this supposed to mean?_

“Did you speak with him?” she asked.

He laughed again. “Speak with him? Oh, I sure did…”

Suddenly, Reno spun around and faced her full on. His expression was so wild, that Tifa had to restrain herself from jumping back.

“Six months ago,” Reno revealed in a frantic tone, “I spent three full hours in a hotel club in Kiel… playing bridge with that man… and two other people who were his cousins. I believe that is what they said. Then after that, I went on my merry and came back home… that was when I got myself in trouble, by stepping into that place… the Vermengte. That was the name.”

“D-did it look like the entire world was deserted,” Tifa inquired. “Or… was everything broken down. Or, was the water…”

“…turned into blood?” Reno finished. “Yes. Every last bit of it. Of course, I never discovered _that_ little gem until later on that night. I was too busy running away from a trio of rather unscrupulous fellows who tried to hack me to death! If Aster had not come to my rescue, I would never have survived the night…”

“Did they happen to be all dressed in black?” she asked.

Reno frowned at her. Tifa was not able to tell if it was out of curiosity or annoyance. He sat down on the bench, keeping a good distance from her, and held his head as if it were aching.

“If you already know,” he said, “then why did you bother coming to question the likes of me?”

“I know nothing,” Tifa argued. “I am only trying to make sense of what is going on. Father… Father obviously knows, but he keeps pretending that nothing is wrong. I… my life has never been in danger before.” She shivered and hugged herself. “Save for my illness of course, but… you understand, right?! Please, can you just tell me what you know for certain? Please!”

For a moment, the conversation came to a standstill. Reno breathed so visibly that his whole body rose and fell. He raised his hands in defeat and left them fall to his knees with a smack. Despite the mood, Tifa felt a twinge of victory.

“I can tell you three things that I know for certain,” Reno replied, some confidence returning to his voice. “First of all, the city of Royals is a dangerous place where no one wants to be right now… and it will very likely stay that way for a long time.”

“But that…!” Tifa started.

“Secondly,” he continued (appearing to ignore her), “You are right. Our lives are in jeopardy. But, for two completely different reasons. You, Princess, are an extremely valuable asset to **him** … and an eyesore to his enemies. Me, the only reason they want me dead is because I discovered something a normal human being should not know. If I started speaking out, it would mean trouble for them. Of course… I would never bother. Otherwise, I would be thrown into the asylum…”

Tifa rose abruptly from the bench, and Reno stopped talking. She clenched her fists tight and stared him down menacingly.

“Princess?” he said, shrinking back.

“Why have you not told anyone about this!” she cried in exasperation. “What about your safety? And what about mine?!”

Reno held up up his hands in defense, and his eyes grew wide with regret. “If I had known better, that would have been the case. But… the event happened to me in such a manner, that I was inclined to believe it was only a ghastly nightmare. I convinced myself that it was brought on by one glass of scotch too many and reading _The Journal of Maestro_ too often.”

Tifa became motionless and took his words to heart. A dream. He had had the same experience as her, she realized. If that villain had not attacked her after her last “dream”, she would have gone on believing that it had been only that.

“And you did not realize the truth,” she replied, “until you were attacked again in the garden.”

“I am afraid so,” Reno answered glumly. “Dammit! I am such a bloody fool!”

Reno balled his hand into a fist and lightly struck his forehead with his knuckle. Tifa closed her eyes and shook her head in disagreement.

No normal person would have ever believed that what they both went through could possibly be real. No one.

“What is… that last thing?” she asked. “The third thing that you know for certain.”

His eyes narrowed, and he thinned out his lips. He did not even train his eyes in her direction.

“Lord Baldemar?” she said. “Is something the matter?” _Besides the obvious._

“Everything is a lie,” he said coldly.

“What are you talking about?”

He clutched hard at the fabric of his pants and twisted it with almost enough force to tear it apart. A strange, gasping sound came out of his throat, as if he were choking on his words.

“This entire world is nothing more than a prison!” Reno snapped. “A stinking, rotting prison! I no longer know… what is true or false anymore. Everything. The sunlight, the smell in the air, even the way the crops grow… it is all nothing but a lie! **That** , I know more than anything else!”

 

 

It had been completely unnatural, Yuffie thought, for her mistress to disappear so quickly like that. And without a trace too. There was nothing for her to do about. Nothing except, to continue on to the solarium on her own, hoping that her mistress was there… and safe. As she neared the large dome of glass, it only served to aggravate the turmoil going through her. She felt ashamed, losing track of Tifa so easily, even though the circumstances seemed beyond her control. 

To make matters worse, everything looked so gray today! It did nothing to help her poor nerves. Had not the day promised to be cheery and with good weather?

 _Who on earth was that girl?_ Yuffie pondered with suspicion. _How did she find us in those tunnels? She should never have been able to find her ruddy way so easily in the first place!_

She quickened her pace. _The Princess has to be there. She must. Otherwise…_

An eerie, chilly sensation struck her head on, and she stopped in her tracks. Yuffie suddenly felt cold. She could not understand it; there was no wind blowing and though it was overcast, it was quite warm. So, why?

For some reason (if there was a reason at all), Yuffie felt with certainty that something else was going wrong. Something awful. An unpleasant pain, one that did not inflict her body, came over her. Her heart beat agonizingly hard in her chest. And at first, she did not know how to cope.

 _What is this sensation?_ she asked in fear.

The strength of this supposedly irrational conviction grew stronger and stronger, and it concentrated all of its repelling force in front of her… at the solarium! Yuffie sprang back into action and broke into a run towards the building, almost tripping over her dress.

“Princess!” _Please be alright!_

 

 

After a short period of unbearable silence, Reno managed to smile, albeit unstably. Tifa could not mask the horrified concern on her face.

“You… you will have to forgive me for that outburst,” he said calmly. “For now, please forget I even said it.”

“Okay…” Tifa replied uneasily.

“Actually, I feel better now that I have finally let it out into the open. I think… I hope everything will turn out well.”

He stood up, fixed his collar correctly, and combed his hair with his fingers. He took deep breaths in between. Tifa was able to comprehend what he was trying to do; he was attempting to collect himself for the public.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Reno asked with stiff politeness.

“No,” she said. “No thank you. I should probably be leaving right away.”

“Would you like me to escort you back inside?” he asked, with his voice low.

“To be quite frank, I do not want to leave **you** alone.”

He flushed in embarrassment and was unable to look upon her.

“Lord Baldemar?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“About your experience. What were you talking about when you mentioned this ‘Vermengte’? What exactly is it?”

Reno opened his mouth to give her an honest answer, but he found himself to be at a loss for words. “By Jove, if I knew. I am afraid that that is a question for Aster.”

Tifa felt a hint of dread and a spark of something else as she heard this. “I suppose I will be seeing him again.”

To her amazement, Reno immediately responded:

“Of course. And you are absolutely lucky to have him completely on your side!”

Tifa gawked at him as if he had spoken advanced gibberish. Were they speaking about the same person?

“Princess!”

Reno and Tifa were jolted and looked to where the shout came from. Yuffie had quickly appeared on the scene and was galloping to them like a terrified animal. Before Tifa even had a chance to prepare herself, Yuffie clung onto her and tried to catch her breath.

“Y-yuffie!” Tifa yelped.

“Thank… God…” her companion panted. “I was afraid I would be too late… “

Yuffie grabbed her mistress’ arm and tugged violently at her, forcing her to run. Reno, a mere audience to her strange behavior, trailed after them without a word.

“What are you doing?!” Tifa trilled. “What has gotten into you?!”

“Come on!” Yuffie demanded, without answering. “You have to get out of here! Something is coming!”

“What are you talking about? What is coming?!”

Though somewhat confused, Tifa was able to accept that this was no time be questioning the actions of her companion and let herself be pulled forward. The door seemed too far away.

“I… I do not know!” Yuffie confessed. “But it is something horrid!”

 Terror crept back into her heart. _Someone is coming after me again, are they not?_

Tifa heard the ear-splitting sound of breaking glass; it came from above her. She reflexively looked upward and saw a large crack in the ceiling. A sinister, creaking sound resonated throughout the solarium. The glass began to vibrate. For some reason, a large amount of pressure made her body feel like lead, and she found it difficult to run.

“N-no, stay away,” Tifa murmured, without being conscious of it. “Stay away from me!”

And then, the entire solarium shattered.

Every glass pane broke into pieces and flew inside and all around the building. The metal frame roared with a shrill, discordant screech. Tifa was forced to her knees and felt an arm covering her defensively. She heard Yuffie squealing close to her ear, and she waited for the glass to shower them.

But the chaos ended as quickly as it began, and the morning grew undisturbed again. Tifa slowly looked up and saw the aftermath of the catastrophe. The broken glass was everywhere on the ground. The metal frame of the former solarium was bent inwards, as if something had tried to crush it.

Reno had both her and her companion huddled under his arms; his breathing was erratic. Tifa came out from the safety of his impromptu protection and examined the ruined landscape even further. She noticed, to her astonishment, that none of the glass had touched them. It had fallen all around them in a circle, as though an invisible ball had shielded them from the brunt of… what ever had happened.

Yuffie did not rise up to look. Her eyes were closed tight, and she was shaking violently. Tifa put a hand on her head.

“Yuffie,” she whispered soothingly. “I think… I think it is over.” _Though, I am very likely wrong._

“It disappeared,” Yuffie said almost inaudibly. A tear ran down her cheek, and she fell limply against her mistress for support. Tifa let her stay there.

Reno, understandably, was also in low spirits. “Now, what will I tell my master now?” he muttered. “This is a disaster!”

 _You can say that again!_ Tifa thought in dismay. _When my father hears of this…_

She heard a disembodied voice sniggering in her head and gulped. It was the voice that she had already come to recognize. Her fellow victims showed no signs of detecting it.

**_“You have such an uncanny knack for getting yourself into trouble! Whatever am I going to do with you?”_ **

After that, she heard no more.

 

 

Some time later, in another location that was very far away, Sephiroth laid peacefully on a couch as if in deep sleep. The couch he lounged on was deep, velvety brown. The room he rested in appeared to a spacious study, enhanced by a deep and rich color scheme. The smell of burning incense, both sweet and sharp, saturated the air.

He lay perfectly still. His eyes were closed, his hands were folded against his stomach, and his right knee was slightly bent. His long, silver hair fanned over a large, violet pillow and cascaded over the edge of the cushion. He wore casual but obviously fine clothing, judging by how well it was tailored to his body.

The door to the study opened, and a man walked straight through the door, carrying a small tray of coffee; the pot was covered with a cozy. The door closed behind him, almost as if on its own. Unlike Sephiroth, whom he was about to serve, he was dressed in an olive colored suit and had is brown hair tied back in a black ribbon. He was as neat as a pin.

The man moved soundlessly, only making noise when he lowered the tray onto the table near his master. Sephiroth did not flinch. He exhaled sharply and went about his task, taking a spoon and digging into a bowl of sugar cubes that was on the tray. Taking only one cube at a time, he dropped three of them into the cup. He lifted up the cozy and poured fresh coffee over the sugar.

“To this day,” the man finally spoke, “I have never been able to understand His Majesty. Not his whims. Not his thoughts. Nothing. He is… unable to be read.”

He added cream to the coffee and set the cup and saucer on the table. Sephiroth did not budge.

“But now,” he continued, his voice rising in emotion, “I cannot understand the reason for **your** actions. Why? Why have you followed his instructions so far? Can you not fathom the magnitude of the situation?”

For the first time, Sephiroth cracked a smile.

“Members of the royal family… are forbidden to go near humans… let alone touch them or associate with the likes of them! And yet he… why have you not even **tried** to bring him back to his senses? If you…”

“Genesis,” Sephiroth interrupted calmly, “the only reason you cannot understand him is because you only try to examine his **drastic** actions. You are not a man who has an attention for detail. And besides, even though it **is** forbidden, no punishment is set in place for such an act. Therefore, that rule is a mere guideline. Do you see the loophole at last?”

 _Perhaps,_ he thought after the fact, _it would be wise not to mention that I made contact with the Prince of Kiel… or my frequent trips to Kiel. Oh well…_

Genesis scuffled close towards his master and knelt down.

“But… but…” he stammered.

“This is not the first time he has approached humans,” Sephiroth replied lazily. “Have you forgotten Maestro?”

Genesis shook his head and countered, “Maestro is one of us! He became like us when he crossed through the Vermengte… like any other human who sets foot there!”

“…with the help of his truly,” Sephiroth rejoined.

Genesis grunted, but not in defeat. His master remained on the couch and did not open his eyes.

“But that does not explain his reasoning,” the disgruntled companion persisted. “Much less **yours**! I thought you detested the idea!”

“I have decided to revaluate my position on the matter,” his master declared. “That incident in Hafen convinced me so.”

“P-p-pardon?!”

Sephiroth allowed himself a shrug. “Well… I now know that there is more going on under the surface. After all, if Jenova and her ‘pets’ have decided to show themselves, this must be an urgent matter indeed! Did you not sense the malice in their hearts for that poor girl? It peaks my interest…”

Genesis groaned wearily in the background.

Sephiroth chuckled quietly and slowly opened his green, catlike eyes. But the first thing he saw was not his servant; it was the face of a distinctively attractive woman, upside down. She stood right over his head at the arm of the couch.

He noticed that she was wearing a short sleeve, jungle green dress and wrinkled his nose. From his memory, green was a color that this woman usually found distasteful.

“With all do respect,” Genesis muttered, “I believe you are reading too much into it! Have you not considered that that dratted Jenova could only be making use of the… oh, Grand Duchess!”

Genesis had finally noticed her. The grand duchess did not turn to greet him. Sephiroth sat up, to make room for her if she wanted to sit, but she held out her hand instead. He took and kissed it gently.

“Hello, Lucy,” he said informally. “What have you got for me, love?”

A clever grin appeared on her face. Lucy bent over the arm of the couch, covered the side of her mouth, and whispered in his ear. Genesis tried to strain his ears, but Lucy was an expert at concealing her voice. Sephiroth nodded to every word she spoke, mumbling a few utterances of keen attentiveness and amusement.

“How far along is it?” he asked aloud.

Lucy pulled back and said, “It is already finished and furnished.”

“I was talking about the dress.”

“Oh that…”

“Dress?” Genesis interjected.

The two turned and stared at him for a moment and then turned back to each other. Genesis felt isolated. Sephiroth took her hand again and slid the tip of his tongue over her fingers. Lucy giggled pleasurably and covered her mouth.

Genesis cringed squeamishly. “I am **still** here, if you have both forgotten.”

The couple turned to him again and smiled with ironic innocence. Genesis sighed in exasperation.

Sephiroth let go of her, stood up without warning, and walked away from the couch. He fixed the collar of shirt and tugged out the wrinkles. His coat was hanging on a rack near the door. Lucy cocked her head curiously, and she simultaneously made eye contact with Genesis.

“Where **are** you going?” she asked Sephiroth.

“I believe I shall have a talk with him,” he replied while retrieving his coat.

Genesis watched wearily as his master put it on. In his eyes, Sephiroth was far too unkempt to go outdoors.

“What about the coffee?” Genesis asked. “Will you be gone long?”

“By the time I get back,” Sephiroth replied, “it will be lukewarm… just the way I prefer it.”

“Very well, Your Highness.”

He disappeared behind the door and did not bother to shut it all the way. After she was sure that he was gone, Lucy leaned against the couch; apparently, she was quite tired. Meanwhile, Genesis recovered the pot with the cozy and glared dubiously (and almost disapproving) at her.

 _And while I keep asking questions_ , he pondered, _Why on this good earth did His Highness let the king convince him to marry her? He has gotten so lax ever since he was joined with this deviant woman!_

“Lord Rhapsodos?” Lucy said.

“Yes, Grand Duchess?” he responded promptly.

“Has my husband ever told you what a pessimist you are?” she inquired bluntly.

Genesis gritted his teeth behind a closed mouth, and his nostrils flared. Lucy, knowing she had hit a nerve, rested her cheek in the palm of her hand, and smiled sweetly.

“I prefer the term ‘realist’,” he answered proudly.

“So he has,” Lucy decided.

His pride was sunk. Satisfied, Lucy gathered her strength and headed towards the door as well. Genesis noticed that she was perspiring ever so slightly.

“If my husband comes back to look for me,” she told him, “inform him that I went to lie down. I feel unwell right now.”

She slowly walked to the door, briefly touching her forehead with her fingers. When she reached for the knob, Lucy stood still in mid-reach.

“Lord Rhapsodos?” she said.

“Yes, Grand Duchess?” Genesis replied.

“He is a superb actor, my husband. Is he not? He had me fooled for quite a long time.”

“I… what do you mean?”

Lucy turned her head slightly to glance back at him and shook her head.

“I am not sure what he and His Majesty are up to,” she admitted. “Nor do I know why. But because I know nothing, I refuse to question it. However, I would like you to do something for me.”

“Yes?”

Lucy pulled the door open. The hallway before her was empty.

“Keep a closer eye on him for me,” she demanded.

Genesis humbly bowed her head. “There is no need to ask.”

 

 

Inside the same building, at a lengthy walking distance, there was a very spacious bathing room. The floor was decorated with red and nut-brown, and the walls were painted in stark white. The bath took about three-quarters of the room, one end of it running against the rear wall. The rear wall only went a few feet up, and the rest was nothing but a long panel of window. Today, the window was opened to let some fresh, sea air.

A few female attendants sat on standby around the other edge of the bath as their master bathed; all of them were barefoot, and they wore long, gored skirts that reached to their shins and ruffled, cream white blouses with their sleeves rolled above their elbows. One of them held a crimson towel at the ready.

The girl could feel the pleasant ocean breeze as she sat only a few feet from the open window. It was a stark contrast to the hot water that surrounded her and lapped at the back of her neck. Her hair was tied up into a pair of large buns, to keep it from getting wet. She sat curled in a ball and hugged her legs to her chest. Her nose pressed against the side of her knee, but she could still smell the strong, flowery scent of the bath oils she soaked in.

But despite this comfort, the girl was restless. And she could sense that someone was coming to see her.

She took a deep breath and stood up, the water only covering a part of her posterior. She looked out the window, and the saltiness of the ocean hit her smack in the face.

“I suppose I missed this,” she mumbled quietly. “But not all that much.”

The girl poked her head out to see the beach below. The sand looked so plain and yet so festive, and the water was bright. If it were summer, it would probably have been more welcoming. She touched the ledge, running her long fingers against it, and then rested her arms on it, leaning against the wall.

“I can hear it,” she whispered to herself. “Feel it. Every minute, every second, the time comes closer and closer. Everything is coming to an end. Everything is only the beginning.”

A hum resonated deep from her throat. She raised one of her hands and inspected her nails with a passive face; they were painted in dark, purple burgundy and contrasted greatly with her pale white skin and bright features. Once again, her expression was stone cold.

“And here I am,” she droned. “Standing at the point of no return. And I am at the mercy of a child.”

She let herself smile softly and tittered. Then, her laughter became more sinister and impish, and her smile turned into a voracious grin.

“This is all so exciting!” she said with elation. “My, my! Whatever will happen next? Will everything fall quietly into an empty oblivion… or will it all rise into glorious chaos? Either way… the outcome is worth waiting for. Though… it would be a shame… if so many lives disappeared without being able to reach their full potential. Perhaps, in the end, chaos is the lesser of two evils…”

The girl was overtaken by a short, cackling fit. She shifted her arms and straightened her posture. The sun and the wind dried out some of the water droplets on her skin. She took a deep breath, calming down somewhat, and moaned in anticipation.

“So it all depends on her, eh?” she pondered. “Everything… everything… ultimately depends on her.”

She lowered her head, and there was suddenly a frightened look in her eyes. Nevertheless, she managed to maintain a beam.

“I wonder,” the girl quietly thought. “By the end of this week, will I finally be purified? Or will I have to wait a little longer?”

She put her elbow on the ledge and rested the side of her head in the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and listened to the not-so-distant sounds of crying seagulls. But, her anxiousness could not be pacified.

The girl sensed that this someone was now approaching the room and reverted back to a cold, expressionless mien and became alert. Without turning around to look, this person stepped into the bathing room and stopped just a couple of feet short of the attendants. She made a wheezing sound with her nose.

“You are late,” the girl said nonchalantly.

“Sorry,” Sephiroth apologized. “I did not know there was a set time.”

“Nevertheless, you are late.”

“Sorry.”

The girl stole another glance of the ocean and nodded her head. Her bath was over. She turned around, not bothering to cover herself first, dipped back down into the water and swam to the other side, where the steps were. The attendants stood, prepared and ready to repeat their routine duty.

She carefully sauntered up the steps, and the one attendant opened the towel. One walked briskly toward a basket that was in the corner of the room, opened it, and gathered a mass of cloth that was supposed to be a baby blue bathrobe and a green shawl. A third attendant grabbed a corner of the towel and proceeded to help her fellow worker dry their master. The girl simply lifted her arms and raised her leg one after the other when need be. A fourth attendant waited for the second to return with the clothes.

Sephiroth just watched absentmindedly.

The towel dryers finished up and stepped out of way, and the remaining two went to work. The girl raised her arms as the robe, which resembled a nightgown, was slipped over her head and pulled over her body. The shawl was draped around her arms. As a finishing touch, the buns in her hair were slightly undone and rearranged, letting them fall into twin pigtails on each side of her head.

With the process over with, the girl stepped out from among them. The attendants bowed their heads and kept their eyes lowered. They would not move from that position until the monarchs had left the bathing room.

The bathrobe she wore, a semi-sheer, slinky thing, had a high turtleneck and no sleeves. It dragged on the ground behind her.

 “Alright,” the girl said to Sephiroth. “Break time is over. Let us get back to the task at hand.”

She walked past him and made a beeline for the door.

“Thank God,” he replied in relief, and he followed right after her.

The hallway was wide enough and intimate at the same time. It would have been nondescript if it were not for the occasional painting and paraphernalia. That was, of course, ruled by the tastes of the girl. She disliked clutter.

“Have you eaten?” Sephiroth asked in concern.

“Have you?” she rejoined.

A set of maids marched through the same hall, heading towards the opposite direction. As soon as the pair of monarchs were in their sights, the maids moved out of their path, bowed their heads with a curtsy, and waited until the path was clear before going about their business.

“I am afraid to say that Lucy is on to us,” Sephiroth admitted, with a hint of chagrin. “I am not sure if I can keep this act up.”

“The grand duchess is an intelligent woman,” the girl responded. “Why do you think I asked you to marry her?”

“Why do you think I was delighted about it?” he replied cheekily.

“True,” she nodded assent. “But I am quite certain that it is more than her intelligence… that causes you to gravitate to her.”

She scratched an itch under her neatly cut bangs.

“I have no idea,” he answered coyly. “Her gentle ways?  The thrills of romance?”

The girl allowed her frozen face to cock an eyebrow at him. She shook her head and scolded him half-heartedly. “You really can be such a silly man.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. “I love you too, Dollface.”


	9. VIII: Despite our differences, we must celebrate

An inconspicuous carriage rolled along a discreet back road in the palace and made its way into a special, empty tunnel entrance. The carriage came to a slow, steady stop, and the weary driver promptly dismounted from his seat. The driver circled around to the other side of the door and opened it, allowing the Crown Prince of Gelinde to step out first. His begleiter, Lord Tseng Barnum, was the second to step onto the stone pavement.

Both gentlemen stepped out of the way, and Prince Rufus held out his hand towards the darkness inside of the carriage.

"Ready to go, my lady?" he asked, with utmost respect.

In response, a small hand reached out of the darkness and took his offer. A beautiful, black-haired woman dressed in fuchsia emerged from the carriage, and Rufus steadied her. Not that she needed his strength though… she was far too elegant and graceful to trip over herself. As soon as she was on the ground, they let go of each other, and she wandered a few steps ahead.

A calm, puckered smile was on her lips.

"Would you like to go inside right now?" Tseng asked, approaching her cautiously. "Or would you prefer a tour of the grounds first?"

The woman spun around, contemplating it for only a few seconds, and answered:

"A tour would be lovely," she replied, smirking. "I could use a good walk to stretch my legs. And besides, by the end of this week, more than half of this palace will be nothing but rubble!"

Tseng stiffened in alarm. Rufus shook his head and chuckled.

"Madame Yana," Rufus said. "You best be careful. Your foreboding predictions are fraying the nerves of my companion."

Madame Yana shrugged, without changing her expression, and responded, " I am a seeress! I cannot lie."

By the tone in her voice, Rufus was able to tell that she was not the least bit sorry. Her intense, violet eyes stared back at him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are  **his**  very image?" he asked dryly.

"I have been told that he is  **my**  very image…" she countered shrewdly.

Madame Yana lost eye contact with him and appeared to look into nowhere, staring into nothing. From his little knowledge of her, Rufus sussed that she was detecting something.

"I was not sure," she said admittedly, "but I am certain now."

"What, my lady?"

" **He**  is already here."

Rufus only simpered. "I would expect that."

The clatter of running feet echoed in the tunnel. A fourth party had arrived. Rufus turned around quickly, and with a spark of joy and relief, he saw who was coming towards him. It was Lady Scarlet Napier.

Scarlet stopped a few yards short of them and curtsied with her head low. "Your Highness…"

Rufus nodded knowingly and turned back to his guest. "Excuse me."

"Quite alright," Madame Yana clucked. "I can take care of myself."

Tseng readily gave his arm to her. She gently clasped on to it, and he led her away in the opposite direction. She tugged on him, causing him to stall, and looked over her shoulder.

"Dear prince," Madame Yana said.

"Yes, my lady?" Rufus answered.

"Avoid Father Kisaragi at all costs," she instructed.

Rufus gaped in shock but nodded, accepting her warning. Madame Yana looked forward again and let Tseng take her way. Before she disappeared from his sight, an amused snigger echoed through the tunnel. The carriage was driven off to the carriage house, and he and Scarlet were left alone.

Scarlet walked diligently towards him, and he wheeled around to face her.

"I am not sure whether you have good timing or not," she said. "Nevertheless, I need to…"

Rufus grinned all teeth. He cupped her chin with his palm and drew her close.

"W-wait a minute!" Scarlet squeaked, but he swooped down and hungrily devoured her lips. She barely had any room to return the kiss. He had missed her. Oh, how he had missed her!

She put her hands on his chest and managed to break the kiss. "I… I said wait!"

Scarlet stared down at the ground and heaved a very, distressed sigh. Rufus frowned in concern, and asked, "Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"I would suggest right now," she chided gently, "that you worry more about your sister!"

 

 

Several minutes later, Rufus was standing a good distance away from the ruined solarium. The workers were sweeping as much of the glass as they could get to, but none of them were able to get inside the mass of tangled and bent metal. As the sweepers struggled to finish their task quickly, another set of men prepared a large tarp to cover the building. The wind was hindering their progress.

Rufus narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. Scarlet stood a few feet behind him.

"Luckily," Scarlet informed him, "your sister… and the other two that accompanied her… were able to climb out of it. From what I hear, they were all unharmed. Not a scratch."

She put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. His muscles relaxed under her fingers.

"So, it finally begins," Rufus muttered softly. "This world is finally going mad! I have waited years for this to happen!"

"Personally," Scarlet rejoined, "I believe it was mad from the very beginning."

"How many people know of this?" he inquired.

"A seldom few," she replied. "The king wants all similar matters to be kept hidden from the guests. Of the servants who  **are**  aware, they are not permitted to speak of it."

"None of the guests saw this happen?"

"All of the guests are entering the front of the palace. The solarium is a good distance away. And it has been rather windy. If some of them heard the noise, they would probably write it of as 'only the howling wind'."

"How stupid!"

"People can be insipid. I always found it rather amusing."

Scarlet patted him on the back and let her hand slide off.

"Where is she now?" Rufus asked. "I want to see her."

"The princess was taken to the northern wing," she answered. "The king decided to move her early."

Rufus spun around and marched decisively towards the palace. He hissed through his teeth, "That old fool! As if  _ **that**_  will ever make a difference!"

Scarlet picked up her skirts and made an effort to keep up with him. "One last thing. I recently heard from one of my girls… a reliable one… that the king and Father Kisaragi will be having a secret meeting in the study… tonight, during the birthday celebration."

"Convenient for him!" he said derisively. "During the birth week of his own daughter… Are you sure?"

"She heard it straight from the mouth of Lady Ravenel," she replied confidently. "The palace was in turmoil because of that murder, so I put my girls on red alert just in case. She was making her rounds early this morning, and Ravenel was having a conversation with a councilman, so she eavesdropped for me…"

Rufus was thoroughly impressed. "Excellent!"

"If you would like," she offered, "I could have someone hand-record the meeting for you. I have already made preparations. You do remember that secret compartment? When we were children, we always snuck into it when we wanted to know what the king was up to…"

Rufus pinched his chin and wrinkled his eyebrows in thought. His pace slowed down, and Scarlet walked right beside him.

"Yes," he answered. "Go ahead with it. I want to know how much knowledge Father Kisaragi possesses on the matter."

"Very well," she said, pleased with his response. "I will set it in motion right away."

She diverged from his path and started to go her own way. Rufus, however, quickly went after her and caught her hand.

"Scarlet," he said.

He twirled her around and kissed her again. Scarlet let out a muffled cry and almost pushed him away, but she decided to indulge. She had missed him too.

They separated when they could no longer breath, and she gave him a scathing glance. "We are technically not alone!"

"We are far enough away," he replied boldly. "And I will not be able to spend any alone time with you for a while. Besides, that does not matter anymore."

He brushed his cheek against hers and whispered, "Everything is changing."

Rufus gave her a peck on the ear and finally released her. Without giving her any explanation, he left her and went on his way. Scarlet wanted to go after him, to hold him again or at least ask him what he had meant. But she had a job to do, and now, that included more than just servant work.

 

 

Tifa realized that she was becoming sick and tired of people.

Her maids were crowding her and her companion in a flustered storm of excitability. Question upon worrisome question was flung at her like a flurry of hail, and some were checking her again and again for bruises or cuts. Tifa felt like she could not breathe.

And to make matters worse, Yuffie was doing her best to cover her tearstained face and ruined make-up. All Tifa could do was put an arm around her convulsing, hiccupping body.

Granted, it was understandable that her personal maids were upset by the horror just taken place. Yes, it made sense that they  **would**  be concerned. However…

"Will you all calm down?" the princess commanded in a dominating voice.

The maids recoiled at her sudden outburst and shut their mouths. Tifa sighed in relief and scolded them with her eyes.

"I thank you for your concern," she told them sternly, "but you are not helping the situation. In fact, you are adding more confusion to it! In a matter like this, I should be counting on you to be calm and on your toes. What has Lady Napier been teaching you? If you truly wish to help me, take me to my bedroom and get my begleiter some brandy! Can you not see her distress?"

The maids quietly looked at each other and then bowed their heads in apology. Tifa randomly called one of them out and demanded to be taken to her new room. The rest of them dispersed in different directions, but not before debating who would get the brandy.

"Are you alright?" Tifa asked Yuffie, as they entered the hall.

Yuffie did not reply.

The bedroom was at the end of the northern wing. Tifa brought Yuffie through the door herself and set her sights for a place to sit down. There was a large canopy bed (larger than her old one) and an escritoire with a cushy seat. She ushered her companion to the desk and made her sit down.

The maid tried to speak up. "Um…"

"Yes?" Tifa asked.

"Is there anything… is there anything else that you require, Your Highness?" she replied in a shaky voice.

"Yes. She will need some water to clean her face."

"Then I will retrieve it. If something else comes to mind, please call us."

The maid slowly and reluctantly closed the door and left.

Now alone, Tifa was able to speak plainly. She caressed the face of her good friend, gently wiping tears from underneath her eyes. Yuffie coughed raspingly and sniffled.

"Remember that time you fell into that hole?" Tifa asked her. "In the forest? It was so dark that you could not see. You remember, right?"

Yuffie nodded.

"You were scared stiff," she recalled, "but you never cried. Not once. You never cry when something frightens you… because you are brave. So what are you crying for?"

Yuffie let her head fall low, as if it had become lead. Tifa smiled weakly; she decided not to speak for the moment and reached for the drawers on the desk. They were all empty. Tifa left Yuffie and tried to deduce where she could find something to clean her face right away.

She saw a door opened ajar near the desk and went through it; it was her new closet. Boxes were stacked neatly inside, and the closet was nearly empty (save for the clothes she would wear that week). She eyed the vanity in the far left corner and promptly tried her luck there. Inside its drawer, she found a golden box of brand new, gold-trimmed handkerchiefs.

Tifa opened it quickly and grasped a handful of them.

"T-tifa!" Yuffie called out.

She rushed back to her companion without tidying her mess and practically flung the door open with her body. Yuffie was still sitting by the desk, her face was still dirty, but she was no longer crying. Tifa was relieved.

"Take one of these," she said, handing Yuffie one of her findings. "Your eye shadow is running…"

Yuffie snatched her mistress' wrist. Tifa made no move to break free.

"Yuffie…?"

"My father sold me out."

Tifa was, for lack of a better term, completely floored.  _Did_ _she_ _say_ _what_ _I_ _thought_ _she_ _just_ _said?_

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Tifa questioned.

"I said exactly what I meant!" Yuffie spat bitterly. "He sold me out! He paid your father to take me into the palace and out of his hair!"

Tifa gaped in shock. The handkerchief fell out of her hand.  _Is_ _she_ _actually_ _serious?_ _Her_ _father_ _…_ _sold_ _her_ _to_ _my_ _father?_ _No._ _No!_ _That_ _cannot_ _be_ _true._ _Yuffie_ _is_ _simply_ _overwrought,_ _that_ _is_ _all._ _She_ _could_ _not_ _possibly_ _mean_ _it_ _…_ _can_ _she?_

Yuffie snorted and let go of Tifa. The handkerchief had fallen on her lap, so she took it and dabbed her tears and muddy make-up off of her cheeks.

"As you know," Yuffie explained. "The Priests of Gelinde pride themselves on their spiritual prowess. My father… as you know, is able to predict what is to come… and he can also gain understanding of supernatural phenomena. Father Corneo… he is nothing special… but to Father, he is valuable enough. But me…"

She buttoned her lip and resisted going into another crying spell. "He was ashamed of me… because it seemed that I did not inherit any gifts. He said… that he must have become lax in his duties… so God cursed him with a useless daughter!"

Tifa shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. Sure, she would not be so disturbed if they were speaking of a minor priest… but this was Godo Kisaragi, the High Priest of Gelinde. And her father, the king, actually accepted money for such a thing?

"But then, I do not understand," Tifa replied. "Why did you never tell me about this? Why are you thinking about this now?"

"It was not that I did not tell you," Yuffie answered. "It was that I could not tell you. And I… I could feel it…"

"Feel what?"

"When I was looking for you, I knew something terrible was about to happen. I could literally feel evil. Pure, unadulterated evil! It was swirling all around the solarium, and I knew it was there! So, I must be able to sense evil forces! I do have a gift after all!"

Tifa bent over her. "If that was the case, then why are you crying? Should you not be happy?"

"It was so all so useless!" Yuffie snapped. "Do you know how long I was pining for my father to accept me? Or how long I wished I had power? I gave up years ago… but I know I am special, with or without this gift, and it never would have mattered. Father would only see me as a tool! How? How can he claim to have the Love of God when he only loves himself?"

Tifa was almost brought to her knees. She could never answer a question like that. Not in a million years. The words of her companion shocked her to the core and brought her great distress.

And to have her father involved…

"So, you see what I have tried to tell you over and over again?" Yuffie asked vehemently. "That is what the so-called priests are like! Their corruption runs deep, and everyone ignores it!"

Corrupt. That word resounded in her heart as if a drumstick had struck its drum.

Corrupt.

Festering.

Wicked.

Venal.

And then, Tifa remembered it. That horrible, vivid nightmare she had on that first night! She covered her mouth, stifling a cry.

"Princess…" Yuffie whispered.

"You… you will have to forgive me," Tifa said. "I have… not been completely honest with you. I have been hiding things. You will have to forgive me."

Yuffie huffed, "Well, I already knew that! I know you so well!"

Tifa knelt down and rested her hands on the lap of her good friend.

 _Yes,_ _I_ _can_ _tell_ _her_ _everything,_  she decided. And so, she did. About her dreams. About the tea. About Aster.

And Yuffie sat, listened, and did not interrupt. They were alone for quite some time, and every word Tifa uttered lifted more and more off of her shoulders.

A long while into her story, two maids returned with a shallow bowl, face towels, and a pitcher of water. Tifa stalled, waiting for them to leave. They set everything on a nightstand that was next to the bed and curtsied before leaving.

"Go and wash your face," Tifa instructed Yuffie. "I will keep talking."

Yuffie heeded her and got up. She went to the bowl, and Tifa followed.

"I remember… that I liked the parlor room," Tifa recalled. "I loved everything about it. There was not too much decoration… like in my last one. And the colors appealed to my senses. It was as if it were mine."

"Then, it was probably was meant for you," Yuffie responded in a quiet voice, dipping a towel into the water. "Just like the piano."

"So, you do believe that the piano came from him," Tifa stated.

"That is the only explanation. And this Aster must be the one who keeps switching your teas!"

"He sure is going through a lot of trouble then."

A mirror was conveniently located above the nightstand. Yuffie began to swipe her face clean and carefully avoid getting anything in her eyes.

"I always knew you would attract a strange suitor," Yuffie declared. "Though, I never imagined it would be like this."

"But he said he hated me more than anyone else," Tifa replied doubtfully.

_He hates me._

"You sound as if you are hurt by that," Yuffie observed, finishing one half of her face.

The princess stiffened and countered, "I can hardly even call him an acquaintance!"

"Then, why are you not angry or indifferent?" her companion questioned. "You seem to care about it a great deal."

"Of course I do!"

"So, are you angry?"

"N-no."

"Are you troubled?"

"…Yes."

Yuffie briefly stopped cleaning her face and stared hard into the eyes of her mistress. "Well, what else could it possibly be?"

Tifa became mentally dizzy. Yuffie resumed washing her face.

"I finally know what kind of man attracts your attention," she said offhandedly.

Tifa scoffed in protest.

"I am not sure if this will console you," Yuffie said, "but I think he would never 'kill' you per se. Perhaps, you said something that offended him and made him angry."

"Perhaps?" Tifa answered dryly. "But that does not explain why he would resent me."

"You have me there. I wonder… Aster…"

Yuffie finished ridding herself of the last of her make-up and splashed some water on her face. She was careful not to ruin the only cosmetic she did not touch: her lipstick.

"You say that he changed from time to time?" Yuffie reviewed. "One moment, he did not show his emotions. Another moment, he was all over you. And then, he suddenly turned manic?"

"Yes," Tifa replied. "It was as if I spooked a wild beast!"

Yuffie took another towel and patted her face dry. She looked in the mirror and saw that her eyes were still puffy and red. As she folded the dirtied towels and neatly put them to the side, she seemed to feel more comfortable.

"There is something that bothers me," Yuffie reflected. "The first dream that you had… I think I know its meaning."

"I can figure  **that**  out," Tifa replied. "An infested church for an infested priesthood."

"No,  **more**  than that. Those words that you heard being said… they come from Matthew 23 in the New Testament. Do you not remember?"

Tifa gasped in realization. "Of course! I knew it sounded familiar! But does it not just enforce that the priesthood is corrupt? By comparing them to the Pharisees that the Christ was addressing?"

Yuffie looked down at her feet. "Do you know the meaning of the phrase 'woe to you', Princess? It means that if you have committed a wrongful act, trouble will come upon you. In other words, it is another way of saying 'you are cursed'. Can you comprehend that?"

Tifa nodded soberly.

"What would you do if you came face to face with an individual who was cursed?" Yuffie asked. "What do you think should be done?"

"I would not be able to trust them," Tifa answered honestly. "In fact, if this person was committing acts that warranted such a punishment, I would stay away from them!"

"Then what does that mean for the Priests of Gelinde…?"

Someone knocked on the door, and the conversation came to halt once again.

"What is it?" Tifa raised her voice.

"Begging your pardon," a timid voice replied, "but your brother, the Prince has come to see you."

Tifa rose in spirits, and her heart leapt with joy and solace. Her brother had returned! Her brother was home!

She moved past Yuffie and went to the open the door.  _Ah,_ _Rufus!_ _You_ _arrived_ _not_ _a_ _moment_ _to_ _soon._ _God_ _save_ _you!_

 

 

While waiting in the sitting room, Rufus became immersed in intense and serious mental debate; one could easily see it in his mien.

Beside him on the couch, there was a large present, decorated with an elaborate bow. He did not pay attention to it (even though he was the one who brought it in), for he was too wrapped up in his thoughts. He did not even notice the carafe of brandy that was laid out within arms reached on a round, side table.

When Tifa finally came to him, he did not answer her at first, so she had to call out to him. It quickly pulled Rufus out of his mind, and he stood to properly greet her. She smiled brightly (whether it forced or not, no one could tell) and made a deep obeisance for him. Yuffie, who was ever behind her, imitated her mistress.

"Welcome back, brother," Tifa said formally. "I trust you had a pleasant trip."

Before she had the chance to look upon him again, Rufus was already towering over her. He reached out and held her head in place.

"You look great," he said. "And your life has been threatened. Now I can truly call you royalty!"

Tifa scoffed, in spite of her circumstances, and pouted indignantly. "And what was I then?"

Rufus only answered by drawing her into an embrace. Yuffie stepped back a little.

"I am glad you are unharmed," he murmured, giving her small form a squeeze.

Tifa gently hugged back like a small child and relaxed. She looked past his shoulder and spotted the wine. To her confusion, three liqueur glasses had been provided for them.

"Enough of that," she said calmly, pulling back. "The situation is grave, and we should treat it a such. So, let us sit down and…"

"Do you fully know the severity of your situation?" Rufus asked.

Tifa was startled, but she only reacted by staring him down with a blank but firm gaze.

"And you do?" she responded briefly. She walked past him, going straight to the brandy. As she was about to pour it herself, Rufus came up from behind and seized the carafe first. He poured a generous amount for her and filled the remaining two.

All the while, Yuffie made sure to keep her distance.

"I know about your recent collapse," Rufus revealed. "And your rather speedy recovery."

"Did you find out just now?" Tifa inquired.

"A letter was sent to me," he said.

"From whom?" she asked. "Father? One of your friends? Your mistress, perhaps?"

Rufus paused for a moment, stopped short by her frankness. Tifa took the glass and gave it to Yuffie first.

"Here," she said. "I got this for you, remember?"

Yuffie received it thankfully. She imbibed far too much in the first sip and hiccoughed like the sound of a mouse.

 _In_ _retrospect,_  Tifa pondered,  _brandy_ _might_ _not_ _have_ _been_ _the_ _best_ _idea_ _…_

"Tifa! Tifa, darling, are you alright?"

The princess never knew that she could feel happiness and absolute dread all at the same time… upon hearing the voice of her father. At first, it was nice to hear him coming with to her in a distraught and caring way. But beside her, Rufus tensed, and his jaw tightened. And the sordid admittance of Yuffie was very fresh in her mind.

Before she even saw her father standing in the doorway, Tifa could already feel the tension and the inevitable confrontation that would come from it.

The brandy was needed after all.

"Ah, dearest!" Lars cried, rushing to hold her. "I am glad you are not harmed! Let me look at you!"

Lars clamped a tight hold on her, making it difficult for her to breathe.

"F-father!" she replied in annoyance. "If I am not hurt, then there is no need to fuss over me!"

He withdrew slowly, but only to kiss her forehead. "If you were not a child, you would be able to understand! There is no need to worry about your schedule anymore. Just rest here until it is time for the party. Now… you are not feeling dizzy or faint, are you?"

"No, Father."

Lars turned his attention to his son and acknowledged him with a smile. Rufus did not reciprocate. He stroked Tifa on the head and let her go, much to her relief.

"And let us not forget you!" Lars said, arms outstretched for his son. "Ah, my son! How was your journey?"

"It was fine, thank you," Rufus answered coldly.

Lars attempted to kiss Rufus on the cheek, but Rufus leaned back, turning it into an air kiss and nearly spilling the glass of brandy in his hand. The proud King of Gelinde drew back and was still smiling, but his teeth were clenched.

 _For_ _the_ _love_ _of_ _God,_ _Rufus!_  Tifa blanched.  _Would_ _it_ _kill_ _you_ _to_ _let_ _Father_ _kiss you?_

"Are you feeling tired?" Lars asked, trying to hide his annoyance. "You just arrived, did you not?"

"Not at all," Rufus replied, grinning maliciously. "But you must be the one who is weary. After all, with a murder happening on palace grounds…"

Behind them, Tifa watched her father become frighteningly stern. "Do not speak such horrors in front of your sister!"

Lars glanced at Tifa, wondering what her reaction might be. Tifa only turned her head away and sipped on her glass.

"A maid already informed me," she told him. "It occurred near my old suite, am I correct?"

"Good Lord!" Lars sniped.

"I suppose her sensibilities are not as delicate as you surmised," Rufus declared mockingly.

And Father and Son glared venomously at each other. Tifa and Yuffie moved to the couch and took a seat. Both were holding their brandy glasses.

"I see that nothing will tame that sharp-tongued nature of yours," Lars seethed.

"And you are just as ignorant as ever!" Rufus countered boldly. "Do you honestly think that moving her was going to solve anything?"

 _Here_ _we_ _go_ _again,_  Tifa bemoaned. She tilted her head back and swallowed a good amount of alcohol. Because she had been given brandy in the past, to revive her from fainting spells, her weak body was hardened to it.

"Mind your tone, boy!" the king scolded. "And this is not a matter that you should speak of so freely."

"Are you trying to confuse  **them**?" Rufus pried. "It will do you no good. You could hide her on the other side of the world, but …"

"Humph! You seem well-versed on the subject!"

"More than you, at least… you pompous, old windbag!"

Yuffie finished her glass, and Tifa picked up the carafe and asked, "More?" The glass was extended, and Tifa poured until it was half-full.

"How dare you?" Lars bellowed. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I have been meaning to ask you the same question…" Rufus answered, "…for the past nineteen years! Do you realize that you might be adding salt to the wound?"

"Bite your tongue! I want no more discussion of this!"

"And still, you are hell-bent on keeping it hidden! Even from your own daughter! If you will not tell her, then I will!"

Tifa finished her glass and poured herself another douse. She was not going to bother asking.

"You would not dare!" Lars replied in a low, dangerous tone. "You would never!"

Rufus smiled falsely and wagged his head. He turned his back on his father and walked towards his sister, with a steely resolve in each step. Lars recoiled in horror.

"Tifa, my dear," Rufus began, "I am about to tell you something important. Listen well."

"Alright," Tifa replied quietly.

"Now, wait just a minute!" Lars shouted, rushing towards his son.

Rufus turned his head slightly and saw his father approaching.

"Oh, you shut up!" he barked, and he bent his arm and thrust his elbow back with the power of a kick. The elbow made contact into the solar plexus, and Lars stumbled back and doubled over in agony. Tifa winced, closing one of her eyes. Yuffie gasped and covered her mouth.

"There is a rather enormous secret that Father keeps," Rufus continued, as if his father were not there. "Something that he and the Church of Gelinde do not want the general population to know."

Lars groaned, unable to get out any words.

"This is not a widely known fact… but there is another kingdom out there… completely different from ours."

"A-another?" Tifa stammered.

"Yes!" her brother said firmly. "It is that very kingdom that everyone in Gelinde… and the majority of Kiel… believe to be nothing more than a fairytale… a story meant to frighten little children into behaving! Officially, this place is referred to as Dunkelheit… but more learned individuals call it by its real name…"

"That is enough!" Lars shouted in a rasping voice.

Rufus stopped talking, but he seemed satisfied for the moment. Tifa slowly stood up, clutching tightly at the brandy glass. Her body shook, from anger or shock or fear she was not entirely sure. But what she did know for certain was that the situation had become a little bit clearer.

The Princess of Gelinde closed her eyes and finished her second glass in a dignified manner. She decided that part of her was definitely, definitely angry.

"I see," she said calmly. "That makes perfect sense." She finally looked upon her father and said, "You knew. You knew everything. You even… you even knew that that painting really  **was**  from… this Dunkelheit."

Lars said nothing. Tifa lowered her eyes, managing to keep her emotions in check, and swallowed.

"I suppose," she said, "you both know that Aster truly does exist. Do you deny it?"

Both men were shocked.

"And  **you**  already knew?" Rufus cried in surprise. "How…?"

"I do not want to talk about it right now," Tifa replied, giving her father a cold stare.

 _No,_  she thought.  _I_ _do_ _not_ _feel_ _like_ _telling_ _you_ _ **anything**_ _._

Lars rose in fury again and directed it at the source. Rufus was ready and prepared.

"Well, I hope you are pleased!" Lars snapped sarcastically. "And what good will come of it, I do know!"

"I have had enough of you," Rufus snarled, wheeling around to face him again, "…you, you dirty, conniving, old bigot!"

Lars raised his hand to strike his son, but Rufus could not be stopped. Tifa went ahead and poured herself a third glass. She had earned it. Yuffie, meanwhile, stayed where she was and refused to involve herself.

"I am only going to say this once," he continued. "If your meddling causes my sister any harm,  _Father_ , I am going to clean out every skeleton in your closet and dangle them for all the world to see! I will let out every secret you have ever kept, including my mother and all of the bastards you have sired over the years with those bloody whores, and then I will go and hang that howling mongrel that you love so much… do we understand each other? Tifa is the only family I have, and it is not as if your stupidity has not put her in enough danger as it is, you confounded puppet!"

"I have illegitimate siblings?" Tifa squeaked in dismay.

The king backed away as if he had been elbowed in the stomach again. Rufus crossed his arms and raised his chin. Tifa, by now, had fallen back onto the couch and chugged the entire glass in one swoop. She was contemplating getting another one, but something told her that that would be very unwise.

Lars looked to her, possibly with a hopeful glint in his eye, but Tifa abruptly jerked her head away. She could not find it in her to come to his defense, nor did she have the desire to do so. Too much was happening all at once.

"Have I spawned  **two**  rebellious children?" Lars shouted, and then, he rushed quickly out of the room like a storm.

Rufus let out a triumphant snigger. "I thought he would never leave!"

"That was a little harsh though," Tifa replied with uncertainty.

"Not harsh enough," he muttered.

"Father is a good man," she said, though she now questioned whether that was true. She was stunned by the very idea… that he could be otherwise.

"Right," Rufus replied dryly, and he sat down next to her on the couch. He drank his glass greedily and breathed deeply.

"Now that Father is gone," Tifa said, "Will you tell me… how you know about Aster?"

"The Church of Gelinde keeps track of these things," he explained. "The king and the heir apparent are always expected to know. However…"

Rufus paused for a moment and put his glass to the side. He cleared his throat, coughing a little, and sat properly on the couch.

"Aster and I… we have an understanding," he admitted.

Tifa facepalmed. "Can I try to be surprised?"

"You are not shocked?" Rufus asked in disbelief.

"I have… been through much lately," she recalled.

He nodded. "Understandable."

"Is this why you and Father have your differences?"

Rufus scowled. "He knows nothing about it. If he did, he would have me killed. Just like Mother…"

Tifa shook her head. "Rufus, dear. Perhaps, Father is not a sinless man,"… she felt strange to admit it, "but he is not capable of murder. Please stop thinking that way."

"You are an innocent child. You have no idea what he is capable of."

Tifa did not know if she could argue against that. So, she changed the subject.

"But I do not understand," she said.

"What?"

"Why would Father want to keep something like this a secret? And why did you never tell me this before?"

Rufus became quiet. A sad look appeared on his face. He eyed the present sitting next to her, and she glanced at it as well.

"That is for you," he said.

Tifa grabbed the box and sat it on her lap. She yanked at the bow until it came loose, threw it off to the side, and tore at the wrapping paper until the box was free. She lifted the top off, and inside, she found a pile of unlabeled books. Their leather bindings were brand new, but the pages smelled musty and old.

"Those are the original journals of Maestro," Rufus revealed. "I had them rebound before I returned."

Yuffie gaped in shock and reached gingerly but eagerly into the box. She took out one of the books, a navy blue one, and carefully flipped through it.

"Everything is handwritten!" she whispered.

Tifa leaned close to her companion and looked at the pages. The words were meticulously written in ink and were well preserved.

"How did you get this?" she asked, staring at her brother in amazement.

"I ran into a fellow by the name of Vincent Valentine while I stayed in Kiel," Rufus said. "He… he wanted to deliver a certain painting to Father, but he was having trouble gaining admittance into Ulbrecht Palace. Cassius would not reply to his letters. So, I gave Mr. Valentine a letter to take with him. So, I take it the painting got here?"

"Father let me have it," Tifa told him. "Though, I am not sure where it is now. But… why are you giving these to me?"

"Because I had already made up my mind to tell you the truth," he said. "Besides, if you read them, you will be able to understand why Father is trying to hide it. If I tried to tell you myself, I would not be able explain it well."

Tifa nodded and touched the other journal inside of the box. Yuffie returned the book she took out, and Tifa replaced the top.

"Father… and the Church," Rufus said bitterly. " They  **hate**  the people of 'Over There'."

Tifa felt herself sink. The new knowledge that she had gained weighed down on her. The corruption of the Church. The questions brought against the character of her father. The third kingdom. And possibly more than she realized…

She thought she could at least be thankful for the information she had gathered. After all, that  **was**  what she had set out to get this morning.

 _Then_ _why_ _do_ _I_ _feel_ _more_ _confused_ _then_ _ever?_  she grieved.  _This_ _is_ _a_ _fine_ _way_ _to_ _start_ _the_ _day!_

And morning was not even over yet.

"Try to collect yourself," he admonished her. "You have to go to the celebration tonight."

"I have no wish to go to a party," Tifa murmured.

Rufus put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Think of it this way: what choice do you have?"

 

 

The morning and the afternoon passed by too quickly, and then, it was almost time for the party. But it proved enough time for Tifa to "collect herself". At almost half-past six in the evening, the maids had already finished dressing her in an olive green ball gown, with matching shoes and lacy, white gloves. Her hair was left down. For some reason, she felt compelled to keep the cross pendant around her neck.

She had been taken to the sitting room to wait for her entourage, but she was too uneasy to sit. The room seemed to hollow and empty, and Yuffie was not there. She could hear murmuring at the other side of the door. Tifa sighed and fiddled nervously with the pendant.

That cat was still nowhere in sight.

 _Perhaps,_ _this_ _will_ _at_ _least_ _bring_ _me_ _luck!_  she hoped.

And it was comforting to know that her dress was better than the yellow nightmare her father had given her.

"Father," she whispered unhappily.

Tifa silently prayed that somehow, someway, her father would be redeemed in her eyes. And she was still convinced that Rufus was not completely right. She squeezed the cross and walked toward the window. It was getting dark, but had not been able to see the sun all day; it was still quite gray.

There was danger outside of the sitting room. She could feel it right then and there. She wondered what exactly was waiting out there for her. Would there be another attempt on her life?

Tifa thought to herself,  _I_ _will_ _not_ _be_ _able_ _to_ _be_ _bored!_

She would have bitten her nails if it were not for her gloves.

Usually, at a party, she could only enjoy herself for a short time before quickly growing tired with it all. Because of her health, she would always be allowed to be among the first to leave. Nevertheless, with the situation fraught with danger, having to pretend that nothing was wrong, and hardly knowing what was happening in the first place, Tifa had to admit that it was … exhilarating. It was literally an adventure!

She shook her head.  _Is_ _a_ _princess_ _allowed_ _to_ _have_ _such_ _twisted_ _thoughts?_

_Or are they even twisted at all?_

The door opened, and Shera and Yuffie entered the sitting room. Three young women, two brunettes and a blonde, followed behind them into the room and stood in a row. Yuffie joined her mistress' side, all dressed in cream beige and white. Tifa took a deep, relaxing breath and composed herself.

 _This_ _is_ _what_ _royalty_ _does,_  she resolved.  _Never_ _showing_ _your_ _feelings_ _in_ _front_ _of_ _the_ _citizens._

"This is Princess Tifa Nicolette Marjorie Lockheart-Shinra," Shera introduced. "You will be her companions for the whole of the week."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tifa greeted, making a curtsy.

"And these are Lady Jessie Griffin, Lady Priscilla Gower, and Lady…"

Shera stopped and frowned in confusion. "What exactly is your full name again, dear?"

The blonde stepped forward and bent her knee stoically. "Just call me Lady Elfe. That is all."

"Nice to meet you," the brunettes chimed in unison, and they also dropped a curtsy.

Priscilla leaned close to Jessie and whispered something into her ear. Jessie went stiff and scowled.

"I apologize for not meeting you earlier as planned," Tifa told them, "I was not feeling well. Shall we go?"

"O-of course!" Priscilla stuttered. "Why not?"

Tifa noticed that Priscilla was beaming, and her face were sparkling with delight. She felt awkward but smiled.

_I only hope that I do not endanger the women…_

Priscilla ventured bravely towards her with a probing look in her eyes. She drew close, almost too close to be proper, and Tifa straightened to maintain her space. Priscilla grinned, took her hand, and squeezed her hand tightly.

"Um…" Tifa said.

"Hmm, I like you!" Priscilla decided.

The princess gave her a pretty half-smile. Yuffie crossed her arms and stifled an annoyed growl.

 

 

A few minutes before seven, the women were taken to a large room that just beyond the ballroom. Beyond the French doors on the other side, Tifa could hear the clamor and mirth of hundreds. This room was merely an entranceway.

The king and the crown prince were on the opposite sides, along with their accompanying parties. Though they maintained civil attitudes, neither of them gave each other a glance, and it was very likely to remain that way for the rest of the evening. Tifa dropped her head slightly and sighed; it was a typical scene.

For a moment, she noticed Tseng, the begleiter of her brother, and waved for his attention. Tseng acknowledged her, put his hand on his heart, and bowed his head. Her brother was busy chatting to a woman she did not recognize, so she refocused her attention to this new person.

The woman had her head at an angle, so she could not see her face. Her hair was a severe, jet-black and was wrapped in a disheveled but elegant bun. Her dress was navy blue and off the shoulders, her gloves were black, and she wore the whitest pearls Tifa had ever seen. Her pale neck was slender and smooth.

 _Scarlet_ _had_ _better_ _watch_ _out,_  Tifa thought.

The woman turned her head, as if she knew she was being watched, and their eyes met. Tifa saw her face and nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman was beautiful indeed, but what struck Tifa was not her looks… or the rather dark lipstick she wore. The face that looked back at her was almost identical to the visage of Aster!

 _Am_ _I_ _seeing_ _things?_  she asked herself in disbelief.

The woman smirked at her and waved, but only that. Tifa was shocked; why did she not bow? Rufus saw her as well and also waved. He did not seem displeased that the woman had not followed protocol, so perhaps it was all right. But who was she exactly?

Tifa looked back to see her ladies and noticed that Priscilla had a dreamy doe-eyed mien. She was apparently looking at the crown prince.

The French doors were opened, and the band struck up a regal song. The grand entrance had been signaled. Lars went first with his group, and Tifa counted slowly to ten. Rufus winked at her and went next, with Tseng at his side, the mysterious newcomer on his arm, and some of his favorites trailing at his back. Tifa walked closer to the doors, with Yuffie and her ladies standing right behind her, and counted to ten once more. Then, she made her appearance.

As she stepped through the doorway and into the party, Tifa could already feel a heavy door slamming permanently shut behind her.

 

 

At about the same time, the darkness had finally overtaken the day, and a small flash of lightning appeared in the distance. The gardeners begrudgingly put effort into quickly taking down the last of the decorations outside and preparing for the unexpected rainstorm.

The girl stood akimbo at the edge of the roof of Ulbrecht Palace and watched them scurry like ants. The wind blew forcefully at her pigtails and the long tails of her cutaway coat. She dressed like a dandy and was a vision of red in her crimson coat and vest; the tails were dark blue and hemmed with gold. She wore a white blouse with a ruffled collar and a pair form fitting dress pants and embroidered gloves (both black). The ensemble, however, almost seemed of no consequence; she had the usual, blank stare on her face.

The first drops of rain fell down, and she felt one hit her cheek. A covering was then held over her for protection. The girl tilted her head up and saw a brown umbrella hovering over her head.

"Thank you," she said, "but I was about to go inside."

"Do you want to get that coat wet?" Sephiroth asked.

"Not really… but it can take it."

He walked around and stood by her side, holding the umbrella over their heads. The rain began to pick up speed, and the gardeners hurried faster.

"Eh, Seph?" the girl said. "What do you make of all this? What do you feel about it? After all, when this night is over, there is no going back."

"I am with you to the very end," he replied unhesitatingly.

"That is all?" she asked.

He grinned eagerly. "Yes, only that."

"And Aerith?" she reminded him.

"I told her to get over it," he responded bluntly.

The girl made a wheezing sound under her breath and hugged herself.

"How cold to say to your only sister," she commented. "I was at least kind when I rejected her."

"That was years ago," Sephiroth answered curtly. "And ever since, it has become a bane to you."

She shook her head. "No… I just feel terrible about it, I suppose."

"That is exactly what I mean," he explained irritably.

The girl closed her eyes and smiled. She rubbed his arm with a comforting hand. The rain was beginning to pound against the umbrella.

"So… what will you do  **when**  Jenova shows herself," he said. "Are you sure you will not destroy her?"

Her lips curled dangerously. "No. That wretched harpy still has a purpose to serve. And that is not my destiny. Too bad. I would have personally enjoyed getting rid of her with my own two hands…"

She chuckled and covered her mouth. He snickered right along with her.

"Let us waste time here," she said. "The night is so very young."

"I was thinking the same thing," Sephiroth admitted. "I want to taste hors d'oeuvres."

The girl grasped his arm and jumped off of the roof, pulling him down with her. The rain poured, wetting down the spots they had stood upon.


	10. IX: Bursting wide open

In the middle of the celebration, Lucrecia separated herself from her group of acquaintances on the grounds of needing to catch her breath in a less crowded area. She nearly stumbled into the hallway. The ballroom had begun to stifle her, and she had developed a bad headache a few hours prior. The halls were dim, for which she was grateful; the bright lights had worsened her discomfort. Lucrecia leaned against the wall for support and groaned quickly. Luckily, she thought, no was passing through at the moment to see her.

Unsurprisingly, her husband was not there to help her, but she was already well aware that his presence would have made no difference. It had taken much of her strength to pretend nothing was wrong.

"Perhaps, I should have another drink," she thought to herself. "Something nice and cold. And then, maybe, I will go lie down…"

She turned around and let her back rest against the wall. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Are you in pain?" a woman suddenly asked.

Her eyes flashed open.

Lucrecia gasped and recoiled in horror. Standing right before her was the very women who mysteriously appeared before her that very morning. Her red eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, and they stared harshly at her… almost as if they were carving into her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the women put a hand over her mouth. She tried to say something, but her words came out in frightened muffles.

"Now, now," the women chided mockingly. "There is no need to yell, my child. If you are polite, I will let you speak."

Lucrecia felt her hand loosen from her face. She wondered if she could cry out for help.

"If you make a scene," the woman warned, smirking maliciously, "I will rip your tongue out. Is that clear?"

Lucrecia swallowed hard and nodded. The hand left her lips, and she breathed erratically.

"W-what are you doing here?" she asked. "Who…?"

"Ah, did you think that was just a delusion this morning? You silly little thing."

The women put a finger against her forehead and cooed almost sympathetically (whether it was sincere, Lucrecia could not tell). "You have a terrible migraine. Is your situation putting you through so much stress? I can help you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can give you power."

Lucrecia stiffened. "P-power?"

"Ah, yes!" the woman replied. "You could have power beyond your wildest dreams, if you would allow it. If only you would let me show it to you. You have potential."

Upon hearing this, Lucrecia panicked.

"So, you  **are**  from Over There!" she declared breathlessly.

"So that  **is**  what you humans are calling it these days," the woman replied derisively.

Lucrecia squeaked in terror. She shut her eyes tight and gave her a hard shove.

"Get away from me, you foul witch!"

And then, there was nothing. Lucrecia had expected some sort of retaliation for her rashness, but she received nothing. Not even a slap.

She opened her eyes again, and there was no one. The women had vanished, and once again, without a trace. Her legs gave out, and she fell to the floor.

 

 

As the rainstorm went on outside the palace, thunder and lightning accompanying, the ballroom was brightly lit and almost like a safe haven.

The women were dressed in gowns of many colors, ruffles and lace, and with feathers and jeweled pins in their hair. They fluttered and giggled behind their fans. The men admired them; some were playful and others enraptured. Most of the partygoers danced in a giddy but neat order. The rest stood or sat nearby and watched… carousing… gossiping… laughing… merrymaking.

But the king of Gelinde was not there.

After mingling with a few high profile aristocrats, Lars, accompanied by Veld, snuck out through a hall in the back and headed towards his study. Few noticed that he had left, and those that did would probably assume that he was going to eat.

 _So much the better,_  he mused.

"Did you see them all?" Lars asked his begleiter. "Do they all not look happy and gay? They think that all is right with the world. No one knows what is happening."

"Is that not what you wished for?" Veld questioned.

Lars lowered his head and nodded. "Yes… people can be such panicky animals. We already have enough problems to deal with. If we handle this before a crisis begins, it will be as if it never occurred."

"Hmm… I wonder."

Lars glared at Veld and frowned. "I do not like it when you utter that phrase."

"Then I will make sure not to say it again in the future, your majesty."

They did not speak again, even after they reached the study. The entire council was already there, dressed in formal attire from the celebration, sitting at a large table that was set up for the meeting. All were poised and ready. Cissnei fiddled nervously with a pink fan and gave Hojo a furtive, hostile glare.

In the far corner, Father Godo Kisaragi was perusing through a bookshelf; he ran his finger down the title of a book. Lars cleared his throat, and Godo turned to greet him.

"Thank you for coming at such short notice," Lars said. "Are you well, Father Kisaragi?"

Godo walked towards him, his priestly robes of white and blue trailing behind him. A plain, solid gold cross pendant hung from his neck; it was etched with the calligraphic letter "G". His face was hard but smiling.

They exchanged brief bows.

"I am quite fine, your majesty," he answered. "And it was of no consequence."

"I trust you will give us more clarity on the situation?" Lars replied hopefully.

"Of course. I have much to tell. It is time to lift some of the fog on this quagmire."

 

 

At about the same time, five maids entered freely through the hallway, all armed with a purpose. One maid was carrying a large stack of wash-white paper in her arms. A second maid carried a cylinder container that had many spare quills. A third maid carried even more paper (just in case). A fourth maid was holding one very large bottle of black ink. The last maid was carrying an unlit lantern.

At a certain point in the hall, they stopped in front of large tapestry, which depicted an elaborate image of a former king and his offspring. All of them looked both ways.

The maid who carried the lantern lifted it up, and there was a strange symbol in the wall. She pressed against it, it sunk into the wall, and the tile floor shifted underneath her. They moved out of the way and watched a small portion of the floor open and move, revealing a passageway.

The lantern was lit, and they descended down a short flight of steps. At the bottom, there was another symbol on the floor. As soon as the last maid was in, one of them stepped on top of the symbol, and the hidden door shifted and closed.

"I wonder how the Crown Prince and Lady Napier found this place in their youth," one of the maids pondered. "Was she not more then ten when they first used it?"

"They say that the first queen showed it to the prince when he was very young," the maid with the lantern replied.

The passageway was cold and uninviting. The walls and floors were all of stone. At the end of it, they came to a wooden door. Inside, there was a small chamber. They entered in haste. On the other side of the chamber wall was the study.

The lantern was barely sufficient enough to light up the room. A second lantern was hanging from one of the walls, so they lit it as well. A small, wooden escritoire was lined up against the wall with a ladder-back chair. One of the maids opened a peephole in the wall, gaining full access the meeting. The High Priest and the king were about to take their seats.

The maids no longer spoke; they signaled to each other with hand gestures. One of them sat at the desk and was supplied with the paper and quills. The bottle of ink was opened and placed within reach. And she immediately set to work.

As soon as Godo began to speak, the maid followed his words and recorded him at a very speedy pace, quickly dabbing the ink and starting over and over again. All of them listened with avid interest…

 

 

Lars and Godo sat directly across from each other. Cissnei and Palmer were flanking Godo, while Heidegger and Dyne sat on both sides of their king. The table was stripped bare.

"I suppose we should first begin with the rumors," Godo said, while wriggling in his chair.

"Go on," Lars replied anxiously.

Godo smiled unpleasantly. "It is a rather confusing dilemma. Since the beginning of this month… beginning sometime at the end of last month, there has been a horde of sorcery swirling in the city of Royals. I can sense… many of them."

"Do you have a good idea of their numbers?"

"Fifty-six and four hundred…"

The entire table grunted in horror. Godo, nevertheless, continued to smile.

"Last week, it was only half that number," he continued, without any reservation. "I can feel more and more of them everyday."

Lars swallowed and took a deep breath. "And can you tell us what their intent is?"

Godo breathed through his nose and rubbed his small beard. "That is where the confusion begins. The majority of these… people… are individuals on their own. I can only recognize a handful of their numbers as having the stench of Dunkelheit upon them. The rest… I have come to believe that they are not from Dunkelheit at all. At first, I thought I was discerning it wrong, but there can be no doubt about it now."

There was a short pause. The council exchanged nervous, perplexed glances. Cissnei began to fan herself.

"But then…" Hojo finally spoke. "Where do these 'individuals' originate? If they are not of Over There, then where did they come from?"

"That…" Godo answered, "… is a mystery. From what I can tell… they did not appear like those who came from Dunkelheit. They sprang up out of nowhere… like little, baby plants pushing right out of the earth."

"Yes, but what is their purpose?" Lars demanded.

"Survival… and nothing more. I only feel a strong desire to survive. So, there is no need to see them as a threat… for now."

The tension did not leave the room. No one was relieved in the slightest.

"As for the people who are most definitely from Dunkelheit," Godo continued, "That is were the real problem lies…"

 

 

To the princess, the ballroom was just as stormy and chaotic as the outside world.

Rufus had asked her for a dance, and it was her only source of visible comfort. That, and the fact that he was wearing his large, royal pin on the left side of his chest; she often used to play with it as a young girl. He looked positively formidable in red, black, white, and gold… and he was a graceful dancer.

As she danced with her brother, Tifa could feel the adrenaline rushing through her body. The room spun round and round as they turned in circles, round and round she circled him, round and round as he twirled her. The colors and the brightness made her feel self-conscious and acutely alert.

Or perhaps, it was not that at all.

The only real comfort she had were the hands of her brother,

"Are you alright, my dear?" Rufus asked.

"What do you think?" she answered curtly.

Rufus sighed anxiously. "I will not be so foolish as to ask that you not be afraid. But please bear with it. We will not let any harm come to you."

"We?"

Rufus did not reply.

"Where is that beautiful woman that entered with you?" Tifa inquired.

Rufus glanced at his left towards the sidelines of the ballroom. As they made another turn, she looked to where his eyes were drawn and saw  **her**. She was sitting alone on an ornate, stone bench and was being served a glass of wine. Tseng stood beside her, watching the display.

"She calls herself Madame Yana," Rufus told her. "She resides in the court of the King of Kiel."

"And why is she with you?" Tifa asked coyly. "Is not the Lady Napier enough for you?"

Rufus gave her scolding look. Tifa allowed herself a small laugh.

"She and I are incompatible is every way," he replied. "And she wished to see you. So, I invited her."

"Me?" she cried. "Why would a courtier from Kiel be interested in me? My father is not her ruler."

"And neither is the King of Kiel. You see… Madame Yana is a prophetess."

Tifa did not know what to say. Was not the idea of prophets outdated? And if not, then the reason this "prophetess" made her have strong forebodings. She was already shuddering at the uncertainty of her future.

"You mean a fortune teller?" Tifa questioned, trying to put some distaste in her voice.

"Actually, seeress would be a more accurate description," Rufus countered. "Fortune tellers are occult. Madame Yana is spiritual."

"I see," she replied. "Did she tell you why she wanted…?"

"She will tell you herself," he answered.

The song was about to come to an end; Tifa often heard it being played by the ensemble and knew it by heart. Rufus tried to give her a cheeky smirk, but it obviously forced.

"Tell me more," Tifa demanded, "…about this hidden country that Father wants no one to know about. In your own words. Do you know… what kind of place it is?"

"I only know what I have read from the journals," Rufus replied, without skipping a beat. "And my perspective is probably… insufficient."

The dance ended, and the siblings gave each other their proper, tradition genuflections. Rufus led her off to the side, and Tifa was rejoined with her ladies.

The ladies politely acknowledged the crown prince. Priscilla began to gush at how lovely of a dancer Tifa was. Elfe only greeted her with a quiet simper. Jessie said nothing.

"Are you feeling tired?" Yuffie asked.

"No, not at all!" Tifa sang. "It is almost as if the energy would never stop flowing."

Her companion drew in close and whispered, "Tis adrenaline, is it not?"

"God bless your heart."

Tifa would have kissed Yuffie on the cheek if she had not feared leaving a lipstick print. She settled for poking it with her gloved finger.

_I would not be able to do without you._

She turned to her brother, with a serious mien. "I want to speak with her. Right now."

Rufus offered her his arm in response. "As you wish."

 

 

Tseng watched contemplatively as Madame Yana finished off a glass of dark wine. Her exquisite throat shifted smoothly as she swallowed. Her eyes stared listlessly at the quickly diminishing liquid, and she almost seemed to slow down at the last three sips. Her lips left a dark blue print on the side of the glass.

"Very good," she commented.

"How does it compare to wines of Kiel and Dammerung?" Tseng asked curiously.

Madame Yana shrugged. "That would be like trying to compare a delicate blonde, a voluptuous redhead, and a sylphlike brunette. It is a matter of taste. Gelinde wines are usually sweet, Kiel wines are often spicy, and Dammerung wines are always potent."

Tseng hummed in thought. "Sweet, spicy, and potent. Perhaps, if one combined the three, it would create the perfect wine."

"I could drink to that!" she laughed, holding up her chalice. "If a wine like that is ever made, let us try it together with a basket of fruit and cheese."

Tseng flushed. Madame Yana chuckled lightly and craned her neck to the side. She noticed as Rufus was leading Tifa in their direction. She examined herself to see if anything was amiss with her attire.

"Ah, she looks just like a doll," she cooed. "Does she play croquet?

"She despises it," Tseng replied.

"Then, I adore her," she declared.

The crown prince and the princess stopped in front of them. Madame Yana handed Tseng her glass and picked up her skirts to stand.

"Hello again," Rufus said cheerfully to her. "I trust you did mind me leaving you alone for a bit."

"Not at all," she replied. "Your begleiter and I were just having an interesting conversation…"

Madame Yana was fully aware of the stares she was receiving from Priscilla and Jessie. She could sense strong intimidation and a flurry of mixed emotions. Elfe surreptitiously bowed her head low. But Tifa, rather than sharing their feelings, had a scrutinizing flicker in her burgundy eyes.

"Darling, this is Madame Yana the Prophetess," Rufus introduced. "And Madame, this is the Princess of Gelinde."

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," Tifa said, with a curtsy.

Her ladies followed suit. Madame Yana did not return it but beamed warmly. Rufus was not offended.

"Yes," she said, mumbling to herself. She put her hand to cheek and grinned almost devilishly, continuing, "Yes… I have been wanting to meet you… for quite some time."

Tifa bit her lip but did not look away from her.

"I hear that you wish to speak with me," the princess declared.

"You are very quick to get to the heart of the matter," Madame Yana replied. "Then, shall we have a chat?"

She then glanced deliberately at Rufus and added, "In private."

"Private is good," Tifa agreed.

"I suppose so," Rufus muttered reluctantly.

"Then shall we?" Madame Yana said.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around and walked off. Tifa understood that this woman expected to be followed, so she glanced once last time at her brother and began to trail after her. Yuffie suddenly grabbed her arm and held her back.

"Princess," she whispered.

"Tis only for a little while," Tifa consoled her. "And I think… I will be alright."

Tifa slipped out of the grasp of her companion and continued forward, catching up with Madame Yana. Madame Yana turned to her with a pleased grin. Tifa returned it with a nervous one.

 

 

Godo produced a bundle of folded papers, tied together with a coarse string, from his robes. He put it on the table and pushed it across the surface, allowing the king to reach it.

"What are these?" Lars inquired.

"An eye witness account," Godo revealed. "From the Mother Superior of Spalte."

Lars tried to undo the string but struggled to untie it with his thick fingers.

Dyne held out his hand and said, "May I, your majesty?"

Lars pushed the bundle in his direction. Dyne undid the string with his nimble fingers and tossed it aside.

"There are two different powers at work in this city," Godo declared. "Two different factions with completely different agendas. They are both openly hostile towards each other, so I can confidently surmise that their goals are diametrically opposed to each other."

"And their goals?" Lars asked.

Dyne tried to give back the stack of letters back, but Lars stopped him with a gesture of the hand.

"Their goals?" Godo answered. "Well… for certain… from what I can understand, one faction desires nothing but destruction and chaos… therefore, they bear a great ill will towards us. As for the other, their motives are not clear to me… but they have been violently clashing with the other faction at every step of the way. Both of them are attempting to obtain something of great importance to their kind… and they want it so badly, that they are killing each other over it. It is very much like a small war."

"Do you know anything that is any more concrete?" Lars pleaded.

"Of course. I know who their leaders are, and I know what it is that they wish to obtain."

"And who are these 'leaders'?"

"I trust you are very familiar with the Journal of Maestro?"

"Naturally."

Godo let his terrible smile grow wider. "The one who leads those who would wish us harm… is none other than Princess Jenova the Sorceress."

The King of Gelinde made a choking noise with his throat. Hojo pressed both of his hands against the surface of the table and bit his lip.

"How can you know this for certain?" Hojo questioned.

"There is no mistaking a member of the royal house of Dunkelheit," Godo answered with confidence. "Their aura is more potent than any other of their kind… and they are the only ones of their kind that can give me  _ **that**_  feeling… a strong chill up my spine."

"And as I recall from the Journal," Lars added, "Jenova was notorious for her hatred of humans."

Godo chuckled. "So, you understand how it all fits."

"I do not find this the least bit amusing," Lars groused. "I think I am going to be sick."

"What is a kingdom that cannot thrive in the midst of a good plot?"

Lars waved off the comment with a simple "bah". He was finding the usual, cavalier attitude of Father Kisaragi to be aggravating his nerves.

It always did.

"And the second leader?" Lars finally said, moving the conversation along. "Who is it?"

"Someone much worse than Jenova," Godo replied. "He…"

"Are you speaking of Aster?"

For a moment, Godo scowled, and his smile faded. "And how did you know that?"

"Because, for a reason unknown to me, he has made my daughter aware of his existence. She did not tell me anything clear, but she did not need to. And… two days ago, a painter appeared here and gave us of a portrait of him!"

"A painter?"

"He called himself Vincent Valentine. He claimed to be the grandson of Maestro himself."

Godo stroked his beard and closed his eyes sternly.

 _So, I was right on target,_  he thought quietly.  _Of course. I always am. Though, I was not counting on the king to be aware of this. That makes things far more difficult than I anticipated…_

"Father?" Lars prodded.

Godo quickly drew himself out of his thoughts and put back on his smile.

"And what does the portrait have to do with your daughter?"

"She was drawn towards it, so… I foolishly let her keep it as a birthday present. That was only… shortly before I became aware of the situation. Shall I destroy it?"

Godo stared blankly at Lars. "You may, if that made you feel more secure, but that will not matter. Besides, you will want to remember his face from now on. Right?"

Lars clicked his teeth.

"Everything will be fine, your majesty," Godo assured him. "Everything will be fine. He shall not get his hands on the princess."

"So, you already have a plan?" Lars assumed.

"More than that. I have already set a plan in motion. I have decided… to dispose of the object of which they both seek. My priests are tending to it even as we speak."

"And what is that?"

"A demonic manifestation of their power."

Lars closed his eyes, gathering his eyebrows. "And this has been going on since the end of last month."

"I apologize for not informing you," Godo said, "But that is the way things are. You, as sovereign, are bound to the land and its people, and I am bound to the supernatural. And never should the twain meet. If that murder incident had not occurred, we would not be having this conversation."

"I am aware of that," Lars replied.

Godo nodded in approval.

"Also, can you tell me… has anything else happened around your daughter? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Lars sighed and folded his hands on the table. He looked the high priest directly in the eyes.

"It may mean nothing," he replied. "But my daughter… who does not usually care for animals… decided to have a feline companion."

"A cat?" Godo asked, his eyebrow twitching with interest.

"Yes. A white one with blue eyes. Though, she says there are golden specks in the fur. And it is always following at her heels. She is quite fond of it. Is that suspicious?"

"I know not. But, I would be nervous if it were black."

Lars exhaled in relief. Godo briefly narrowed his eyes.

"Let us read the letter, shall we?" he suggested.

"Of course."

Lars turned to Dyne, who was about to return the bundle of papers. He stopped him once again.

"You read it," he ordered.

Dyne lowered his head obediently and unfolded the first page of the letter. He cleared his throat and read it aloud…

 

 

By then, the princess and Madame Yana had left the ballroom behind and walked calmly through the hallway. The halls were suddenly filled with a plethora of aristocracy (possibly going to or coming from eating), so at first, the two women remained silent. The nobles constantly paid homage to her, as protocol dictated, and Tifa was obliged to acknowledge them.

Some of them bowed in an exaggerating manner. Tifa could spot their waxen smiles from a mile away. One older man presented her a red rose, and she found herself preferring to vomit from anemia.

For the first time, she realized that she could be both irritated and standing on the edge of an abyss all at once.

Every once in a while, Tifa examined the face of Madame Yana. From up close, it was more certain than before; this woman definitely resembled Aster. Though her eyes were a deep violet instead of his bright blue, they were the same almond shape with long eyelashes to accompany them. The shape of her head had softer curves and she had an attractive cleft in her chin, but they had the same noses. Tifa suspected that without her make-up, Madame Yana would actually appear more androgynous.

Even more disturbing, a similar, potent, flowery odor was coming off of her.

 _And she closely resembles that girl I saw in my first dream,_  Tifa thought confidently.  _They both do…_

Tifa thought hard, forming the image in her mind, and remembered the girl she saw. There  **were**  some differences. The girl had been a blonde, like Aster, with straight hair, but Madame Yana had black hair with waves and curls. Not only that, the woman before her gave off the impression that she was older.

But still…

 _Is she related to him somehow?_ Tifa pondered. Or  _is someone trying to mislead me? Why did my brother not tell me more?_

Tifa sighed heavily and greeted another sycophantic blue blood. Madame Yana had a perpetually vacant smile plastered on her face, but it was forced, and her eyes betrayed a sense of restlessness and anticipation.

_But what if she is tied to him somehow? And did Rufus not say that she lived in the palace courts of Kiel? What would that mean?_

Suddenly, Madame Yana huffed impatiently and grabbed Tifa by the wrist. She sped up their walk, almost to a trotting pace. The nobles watched in slight alarm as the princess was hurried past by a strange woman they did not know, unable to greet her and unable to be addressed. Madame Yana simply ignored them.

Tifa was in a blurry whirlwind as they whipped around the corners of the halls, and then, she realized that they were alone. The sounds of the ballroom were faint. Madame Yana took a deep of satisfaction, and they slowed down.

_How did we cover such a short distance in such a short amount of time?_

"Bunch of toadies!" Madame Yana scoffed. "No different from the gentry of Kiel. Mockingly similar from my homeland! Are you glad we left them behind?"

"Uh…" Tifa hesitated. "Yes, I always find it annoying. But it cannot be helped."

"No… it cannot."

Madame Yana rested over the back of her gloved hand and stared hard at Tifa. Tifa quickly realized that the tables had turned, and she was now the one being scrutinized. She frowned, unsurprisingly matching  **his**  frown, and lightly bit her lower lip. She closed her eyes and folded her arms.

"You are so beautiful," Madame Yana sighed. "Such a shame that you in the center of such peril. Your looks can never protect you. As you will probably come to understand… lovely flowers like ourselves often have the worst luck. I speak from experience."

Tifa choked on her words.  _I already feel uneasy enough._

"Who exactly are you?" she asked.

Madame Yana blinked and paused for a moment.

"I have already been introduced to you," she answered. "My identity is of no importance… and it should be the least of your worries."

"If you are of no importance," Tifa responded, "then why do you reside in the palace of Kiel? And why would my brother be obliged to let you see me?"

"I am a seeress. I have my ways of getting around. Who I am and where I am from has hardly anything to do with it."

Tifa frowned, completely unconvinced.

"Well, I suppose who am helps a little from time to time," Madame Yana admitted. "But mostly, it is a burden to keep hidden from most."

"Because you are neither from Gelinde or Kiel," Tifa declared.

Madame Yana halted abruptly, and Tifa waited beside her. The older woman looked away, averting her eyes, and sighed tiredly.

"I apologize for seeming unpleasant," Tifa said, "but I am very much on edge. Right now, I am not even sure who I should trust!"

"There is need to be sorry," Madame Yana answered. "I was once like that a long time ago. I could not even trust my own family."

Tifa stopped for a moment and reflected on the new image she had of her father. The thought painfully clenched her heart.  _At the very least, I can be empathetic._

"I think… I think I can trust you. After all, it  **was**  my brother who brought you here."

"Good choice," Madame Yana continued. "Then, with that problem out of the way, I have merely come to tell you this: from here on out, everything is about to become much worse than what you have seen so far."

Tifa barely managed to stifle a whimper.  _I knew she had nothing good to tell._

"You have barely scratched the surface of the corruption that surrounds you, my innocent creature. By the end of this week, nearly everything you know will come crashing down. You will survive  _ **physically**_  unscathed… fortunately. However, I cannot say the same for some of the people surrounding you. And unfortunately, at the rate that events are unfolding, it is all inevitable."

"I think I am going to be sick," Tifa mumbled in dismay.

"I  **already**  am. Sorry for being the bearer of bad news. And that is not all. Tonight, someone is going to try and kill you… again."

Tifa felt her heart nearly leap from her chest. But, she was not truly surprised.

"W-when?" she asked in terror.

Madame Yana fixed her gaze along the hall and her smile disappeared completely. She stiffened visibly.

Tifa turned to see what she was looking at, and she saw a small group of priests that were headed their way. They were walking in three tidy rows, with one more priest leading them at the front, as they usually did whenever she spotted them. Nothing really caught her attention about them. They were dressed in the usual black robes they wore during special occasions. They were solemn and quiet as always. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But as they drew near, Tifa began to tremble without knowing why.  _What is it about this that makes my skin creep? Am I merely letting her warnings incapacitate me?_

The priests stopped in front of them and bowed in deference.

"God save you, your highness," one of the priests said.

Tifa swallowed and gave them a curtsy.  _What is it? What am I sensing? What do I feel that something is wrong here?_

She looked up, staring back in the priest directly in front of her. She saw his face. She stepped back in shock.

Madame Yana pushed her back further; her face was harsh and cold. Tifa saw their hands moving in a blur, and something reflected light. The priest suddenly howled in agony, and his colleagues rushed forward. Tifa kept watching, too paralyzed to move, and then, she saw the dagger dropping out of his shaking hand.

The very line of her vision seemed to become distorted. A strange, almost wind-like force erupted in the hall, and the priests were flung backwards like a pack of ragdolls. Some of them were thrown several yards and landed hard against the ground; Tifa heard the sounds of "splat" and "crack". The rest collided with the wall, creating craters and causing debris to fly through the air.

Tifa gasped but did not move.

Madame Yana balled her fist and punched the remaining priest square in the face. He fell to the floor on his back and grunted in pain. Tifa glared at him and realized that his arm was twisted at an odd angle.

"I suppose you became so bold because you believed I was weak," Madame Yana told the priest. "That is the second time that has happened. The Church of Gelinde must not realize that their spiritual deductions are diminishing considerably."

She knelt down and grabbed the dagger for her own.

"You filth!" he hissed. "Only someone like you would actually protect that vile creature!"

Tifa held her hand to her heart.

Madame Yana moved quickly and pounced on top of him like a wolf. She held the blade to his throat and pressed it deep into his neck, enough to alarm but not enough to break the skin.

"If you had succeeded in your cowardly mission," she said, with no emotion, "you would have brought great harm upon yourselves. But since you minds will never grasp the truth, I will not bother to explain myself."

She moved the dagger with frightening skill and slit his throat. The blood, much to her displeasure, splattered on her dress.

Madame Yana eyed a cross pendant that was hanging from his neck and grabbed the pendant. She tugged hard, and the chain came loose.

"Princess," Madame Yana said, "take this."

She threw the pendant over her shoulder, and it landed in front of Tifa on the floor. Tifa crouched onto the floor, her knees like lead, and picked it up. She recognized it immediately, a solid gold cross with a letter G.

_Now I know I am going to be sick!_

Madame Yana stood up again and calmly examined her dress to the cacophony of pained groans in the background. A few of the priests were feebly attempting to get up. As the older woman turned around, Tifa saw the blood on her beautiful, blue dress and bit her lip.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Tifa did not reply.

"Of course not."

Madame Yana grabbed her and forced her to stand. "We best make a run for it. There is no way that no one heard the ruckus. And more of them are after you."

Tifa came alive again and panicked. "More?"

She nodded and pressed her hand into the wall. Her hand disappeared into the solid wall, as if it was not, and Tifa gaped.

"Come along now," Madame Yana replied with a sweet smile, as she started to walk straight through. Tifa suppressed the urge to scream as she was yanked into the wall, and they disappeared from the scene.


	11. X: Retribution is the only thing

A cloakroom was not the best of places to hide, but it had to do for the time being.

Tifa sat in ball in the corner of the cloakroom and caught her breath. She detested that she could get tired so easily at a time like this. Madame Yana was perched nearby, looking towards the door but conscious of everything, with the bloody knife resting on her lap. She sighed elegantly, in a way that only an older woman could, and maintained a relaxed composure.

"We will wait for another minute or two," Madame Yana announced, as if she were talking about steeping tea. "Unless someone comes. Then, we will make our escape from Ulbrecht."

"Escape?" Tifa replied.

"You cannot stay in Gelinde... at least, not until something is done about your so-called Church."

"But my father..."

"...is currently in a meeting with the High Priest of Gelinde himself."

Tifa straightened up defiantly. "All the better! Father Kisaragi is a vile man! He sold his own daughter! And once my father hears what the priests have done..."

"...Father Kisaragi will have him killed on the spot. You do realize it was your father that Father Kisaragi sold her  **to** , remember?"

The princess became speechless. Madame Yana examined the shock on her face and smiled softly.

"There are many things you do not know," she said. "Even of your own kingdom."

"Humiliatingly so," Tifa spat.

Madame Yana narrowed her eyes into slits, and her smile became more devious. "There is an unspoken rule in the Kingdom of Gelinde: You are only the King of Gelinde within the graces of the Church of Gelinde. Your father, God rest his soul, has lost that grace."

Tifa trembled violently. She lowered her eyes and the squeezed the pendant of the priest into her palm.

"Is this all... because of me?" she asked fearfully.

Madame Yana went silent, looking for the right words to say. Tifa stumbled to her feet and slowly moved about in the cloakroom.

"So..." she said quietly, "…it  _is_  me."

"No," Madame Yana replied sharply. "Not... completely. You are definitely one of the main reasons for all of this... but please try to understand... the situation is extremely delicate... and complicated. You are a viable and indispensable part of the kingdom I hail from... but you are also viable and indispensable to the Kingdom of Gelinde... and both for the same reasons. Of course, if Father Kisaragi truly understood the totality of who and what you were, he would realize that trying to harm you is dangerous... and suicidal to boot!"

"I understand hardly a word you say!" Tifa muttered.

Madame Yana stood up and frowned once again upon her bloodstained dress. She would replace it as soon as this catastrophe was over.

"How did they know we were in those halls?" the princess asked.

"They can sense my presence," Madame Yana replied. "I suppose. Their original plan was to poison you in the ballroom or while you were eating. However, when I attempted to take you away quietly, they decided to change tactics."

Tifa grunted angrily.

"No need to fret," the older woman assured her. "Explanations will come soon enough. You will probably understand everything you need to know by sunrise... if your luck changes, that is. But not now. There is not enough time."

She walked up towards Tifa and rested a clean hand on her shoulder.

"This is not the first time... that the House of Shinra has fallen under the scrutiny of the 'Church'."

"What do you mean?" Tifa questioned.

Madame Yana ignored her and grabbed her by the arm. They headed for another wall.

"Wait!" Tifa cried.

"Hmmm?" the older woman responded.

Tifa tried to speak but she was pulled right through the wall. To her, it felt like jumping into water without actually getting wet.

Madame Yana stopped and carefully glanced both ways. Tifa stared down the hall, breathing quietly but deeply, and swallowed.

 _I do not understand…_  she thought sadly.  _I just…_

Tifa was tugged from the opposite direction of her eyes, and they continued onward.

"We should make use of the tunnels," Madame Yana said. "It is our quickest exit out of Gelinde… for us at least."

"You have been to Ulbrecht before?" Tifa asked.

"No. I was simply told that there were tunnels."

"And yet… you know which way to go?"

Madame Yana sighed tiredly. "I am not what you would consider a "normal woman", grant you that?"

"Aye?"

"Then why is it such a surprise to you that I would know which direction to take without prior knowledge?"

Tifa coughed, realizing the point.

The two women practically trotted through the halls like a pair of mares. Madame Yana gripped gently yet securely and carried the knife in her other hand with shocking expertise for a lady.

"Who exactly are you?" Tifa demanded. "It is not as if I am ungrateful to you… and I believe I can trust you… however, I…"

The older woman nodded, understanding what Tifa was attempting to convey.

"It would be polite to just say so. Hmmm. Yes. Madame Yana is an alias I go by when traveling in Gelinde and Kiel. However, in my homeland and to a select few in the inner courts of Kiel, my true name is Clementine Kerensa Rosabel Fundelstein… or more formally, The Queen Mother and Dowager of Dammerung. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Princess Tifa of Gelinde."

_Queen._

"Queen…" Tifa muttered.

"Yes, Queen," Clementine crooned (as if she were talking about going to a picnic).

"Queen?"

"Uhum."

"Q-q-queen!?"

"I know. This plain, blue dress is misleading… but I could not very well go traipsing into this palace looking better than  **you**."

"Dammerung?"

Clementine squeezed her hand almost painfully, and her tone became derisive. "In your kingdom, the Priests refer to it as…  _Dunkelheit_."

And Tifa could tell that the older woman looked upon the name with utter disgust. Her posture had briefly changed, and she had begun to walk faster.

"I see…" was all she could reply. "So, there is a secret kingdom after all…"

"If people know of it… then why call it a secret?" Clementine countered.

Tifa hummed in agreement, and then…

 _W-wait!_  she realized.  _Did she say Queen Mother? Queen…_ _ **Mother**_ _? As in… the mother of the king? But that would mean that Aster… and this woman…_

Tifa shook her head, thoroughly rejecting the idea.  _No. No, no, no, no, no! This woman hardly looks older than my brother. Perhaps, she is a much younger cousin to her previous king who ended up becoming his second wife… or something along those lines. Maybe that explains the resemblance._

"So, then…" she finally answered. "You must be the  _stepmother_  of Aster?"

Clementine turned and glared incredulously at her. "Stepmother!?" She attempted to suppress a snigger and faced forward again. "Dear little girl… I have  **two**  stepchildren… and Aster is not one of them. You have obviously not read from the journals of Maestro."

They were approaching a corner of the hall, where there was a series of steps. Tifa was almost too baffled to notice.  _Then, if she is not his stepmother… then who…?_

Tifa rested her forehead in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes tightly. "I give up!"

"Eh?" asked Clementine.

"Nothing makes sense anymore!" she mourned. "Secret kingdoms… assassin priests running through the halls… thirteen black lilies… our solarium twisted in some perverse fashion… What has become of my life?"

"You have reached an inevitable turning point in your life. That is all…"

Clementine stopped abruptly, almost causing Tifa to bump into her.

"How on earth could this possibly be inevitable!?" Tifa argued.

A shrill squeal erupted from beyond the corner, and Tifa forgot her beating heart. A cacophony of terrible, unpleasant, and strikingly familiar noises followed right after it. Blood splattered on the ground, a mere a few yards. Tifa watched in horror as the body of priest went sailing down the steps and landed on the ground with a sickening thud. A few seconds of unsettling quiet ensued.

The silence was broken when a surviving priest, pathetically whimpering as he ran down the steps in an attempt to escape.

"Where do you think you are going?" a voice asked maliciously.

Tifa saw a flashing red figure darting in front of her. She heard the windy sound of something heavy being swung through the air, cut off by the sound of metal digging into its target. It only happened a brief instant, but it took a bit longer for her to realize what happened.

The priest stood frozen in place, his face reflecting his utter shock. His hand lightly touched the blade that impaled him from the back. The blade was roughly retracted, and he fell to the floor… barely alive for the moment.

The girl stood over the declining priest; her face was still a mask, but Tifa could see that her eyes were cold and angry. Gripped firmly in both of her gloved hands, she held the large, gruesomely elegant… scythe?

"Now stay put," she muttered down at him, and then grumbled something about the annoyance of peons.

The girl swung the deadly scythe in the opposite directions of the ladies, and the blood was flung off… unintentionally onto an old palace tapestry. She suddenly lost her blank composure and blanched very sheepishly. She turned slowly, looked Tifa directly in the face, and uttered a fumbling apology. Tifa simply sank quietly to her knees.

 _There is a "woman" before me…_ Tifa processed, _dressed like a red-clad dandy. And "she" is killing priests… with something she must have stolen from the bloody Grim Reaper! And here I am… thinking that it would have been more appropriate for her to wear black. Am I becoming numb?_

Clementine quickly recovered and folded her arms.

"The scythe tonight," she observed, tilting her head in thought, "and not the saber? Are you in a foul mood?"

The girl stared at Clementine for a moment, her expression becoming emotionless again.

"Darling," she replied, "the word 'foul' does not even sufficiently describe what I am feeling right now…"

"Door of Vermengte."

The girl looked downward again, raising her eyebrow sharply. The dying priest had managed to grab onto her leg. And she was not amused by it.

"Door of Vermengte…" he gurgled, coughing out blood. "Y-you… you monster. Have you finally come for your key?"

"Oh, do shut up!" she replied venomously, and forcefully pulled her leg out of his hold. His clouded eyes held his gaze on for a little bit longer, and then, he died without sound.

 

 

Father Kisaragi left the meeting highly pleased with himself. He raised his hood over his head once more and silently made his way to an obscure exit in the palace, where a carriage was waiting in an outside tunnel. He had accomplished what he had set out to do. It had brought about the exact effect he had been hoping for. The king and his council were very afraid.

Not that he had lied by commission in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he had answered their questions truthfully… albeit leaving out some impertinent information. Even the letter he had presented and its contents were genuine and true. He had simply allowed the king and the council to create their own assumptions with their already agitated minds.

Not that he knew whether their assumptions were correct or not. It mattered not, and he cared not. The people of Over There were still a threat to be dealt with, and in the end, any conclusion that the king and his councilmen could muster made little difference to him. He had no further use for them. Any of them. Save for one.

Father Kisaragi reached a small door in a corner of the palace and opened it. A cloaked priest was waiting for him on the other side, a lantern in his hand and his cape speckled with rain. The carriage and a lone horse were behind him.

"What are you doing here?" the High Priest demanded in a snippy tone.

The priest bowed his head respectfully. He drew close and whispered something in haste. Father Kisaragi recoiled with a scowl.

"WHAT!?" he bellowed.

The priest continued unperturbed until all he had to say was bled out of him. Father Kisaragi closed his eyes and raised his head, maintaining his dignity.

"Ride on ahead," he instructed. "Alert everyone."

"Yes, Your Eminence," the priest answered and swiftly turned to mount the horse. Father Kisaragi watched him ride off before entering the carriage.

"Change of course," he said to the driver. "Take me to the train station."

 

 

Zack was very forlorn that evening. Try as hard as he could, he could not convince a still distraught Reno into coming out of his rooms and enjoying the festivities. Reno has suggested that he might arrive later on during the night, but Zack knew his begleiter too well to hold his breath. So, the night was for him to enjoy. Alone.

The princess was nowhere to be found in his line of vision. Zack could have sworn that he had seen her having a turn on the floor with the Crown Prince, and that had been only twenty minutes ago. He had wanted to ask her to dance with him and to speak with him, but he was left disappointed. And alone.

To make matters worse, the very quiet yet very serious situation had not left his remembrance… especially in the absence of his companion. A murderer was on the loose, and strange people seemed to be lurking about. Who knew whether something else would happen tonight!

Poor Prince of Kiel was left to contemplate these things. All alone.

After a while, Zack turned his head aimlessly and spotted a young woman, sitting on a stone seat on the sidelines. The woman was dressed all in baby pink, with the straps of her dress lowered off of her shoulders. There was a rose pinned in her neutral brown hair, and the majority of her locks were gathered in a massive yet beautiful tail; the rest was curled and flung over her shoulders. In other words, she was very lovely to stare at.

But then, Zack frowned at the peculiar sight beside her. Standing at her side, there was a second woman that was wearing brown, masculine attire. And her blond hair was cut very short. He glanced around and noticed that he was not the only one who thought it strange.

"Oh well," he brushed it off. "Tis a party."

Zack sighed in resignation. If this was the way he would spend the evening, he thought, then he might as well try to have fun with  **someone**. So, he readjusted his cuffs and approached the woman with a stride that reeked of bravado. As he closed in, she saw him coming towards her and straightened up (even though her posture was impeccable). She put on a smile, but for some reason, under her peach painted lips, he could tell that it was forced.

_Maybe, I am not the only one who is in solitude amongst these festivities!_

"Good evening, miss?" he greeted politely.

"Good evening," she answered, "Prince of Kiel."

 

 

A few minutes later, the very mannishly dressed woman remained at her chosen post and watched as her charge spun around the ballroom with the Prince of Kiel. Her eyes never left them.

Tseng sauntered (almost) casually to where she stood, and she did not give him any evidence that she saw him. He stood right next to her, and she did not flinch. He made no attempt to gain eye contact.

"Blood has been spilled tonight," she muttered flatly.

"Nights have had a tendency for that for quite some time now," Tseng added. "How long will it take for the guests to find it?"

"Not long at all. It will be chaos."

He nodded gravely and leaned slightly to the side.

"I believe we have not actually met in person," he said. "I am Lord Tseng Barnum."

He offered her his hand without looking at her. She grasped it, continuing to watch over her charge.

"Lady Elena Marcellus," she replied. "It is a shame to make you acquaintance… at a time like this."

"I do not mean to be presumptuous and rude," he went on, "but must you dress like a man? You stick out like a sore thumb."

"Why not? Now everyone knows that my princess is not alone."

"That is  **one**  way of considering it, I suppose."

For a moment, they said nothing more to each other. Their eyes traveled along the ballroom, watching the dancing pair twirl around. The pair seemed more distracted than content.

"Charges… can be such trouble, do you agree?" Elena asked.

Tseng mentally pictured an image of Rufus, with his arms wrapped intimately around the waist of a certain head of the maids. He sighed inwardly.

"You can say that again."

 

 

Tifa never knew that silence could be so loud. As they walked (half-ran) through the halls, she fully expected the threat of assault coming upon her again. Her guardians did not exhibit any such fears. At least, not outwardly.

The girl had hoisted her up to her feet and wordlessly goaded her forward. Tifa had had no time to squirm or refuse or back away in fear. It just happened, and she just went along obediently.

For a short while, there was no conversation, and Tifa was given the chance to examine this even stranger lady. There was no doubt; this was the same girl that she had encountered in her first dream. And as she thought, the girl, "Madame Yana", and that man… they all shared a striking resemblance.

 _If she truly is a girl,_  Tifa thought suspiciously.

The sweet floral scent tortured her nostrils.

She scrutinized the way this girl carried herself. Posture: soldierly and polished. The ribbons holding up her twin tails: perfectly tied and not even remotely lopsided. The way she held her frightening weapon of choice: adjusted under her arm and over her shoulder like a bayonet. The weapon of choice: shiny and gleaming, despite the bloodstains, and showing the promise of extreme sharpness. Conclusion: trim, sleek, orderly, and disturbingly fighting fit.

"Something is bothering me about all of this," Clementine finally said. "These priests… they do not bother to disguise who they are. Why would they do that?"

The girl briefly parted her lips and said nothing. The silence ensued once again, and Tifa allowed herself to look at Clementine. Clementine had turned her head away, tilting it back with the grace that her smooth neck would allow. It was as if they were communicating an idea that need not be said.

Tifa drew her attention back to the girl, who was now staring at her intently. She could not help be feel intimidated.

"Hold this, please," the girl said. Before Tifa could react, the scythe was thrust into her care. Her eyes fell on the weapon in her hands, the cool of it against her fingers, and she grimaced in disgust… until she realized that the weapon was shockingly light, not at all hard to carry. Yet, she still felt as if the monstrous thing dwarfed her tiny body.

_Of all the…!_

The girl quickly untied the ribbons in her hair, letting it fall down her back. She clamped one of the ribbons betwixt her lips, and proceeded to use the other one, tying up her flaxen hair into a high ponytail.

"I see," Clementine muttered. "So… that is the game that the Church of Gelinde has decided to play. Father Kisaragi… that manipulative scoundrel!"

"W-what game?" Tifa asked, unconsciously holding the scythe closer.

The older woman politely waved her off. "All in good time."

The girl took one of the ribbons out of her lips. "Unfortunately for him… once a game has been started, and I find the opponent lacking, I tend to finish things very swiftly."

She reached out to Tifa, gesturing to have the scythe back. Tifa was more than happy to return it and ended up exchanging it for the ribbon.

"Tie up your hair," she instructed. "For safety."

Tifa wrinkled her eyebrows but did not hesitate. She gathered her tresses and feebly envisioned the back of her head. She missed Yuffie.

And suddenly, they stopped. A door to the underground tunnels was right in front of them. Tifa barely finished fixing up her hair before Clementine forcefully started ushering her through. Not that she minded the least little bit.

But then, Tifa noticed that the girl had stopped short of the door. She was not going with them.

"Wait!" Tifa cried (demanding more than pleading).

Clementine ceased trying to move her along. She stood at the threshold and stared hard into the eyes of her savior. The girl returned her gaze, neutral faced yet patiently waiting.

"What exactly… what are you going to do?" Tifa inquired.

The girl reacted immediately. Tifa paled as she watched her expression change drastically from nil to obviously controlled rage. Her eyes were wide and wild, and one of her teeth was sinking into her bottom lip. The girl turned around and walked away; there was really no use for a verbal answer.

Clementine came up from behind and shut the door. The tunnels were pitch black.

"No need to worry," she said. "We should be safe here."

Tifa felt the hands of Clementine gently creeping onto her shoulders.

"Well… relatively. Hopefully."

Tifa hardly heard her comforting words. Safety was far from her mind.

 

 

A large and sudden burst of frightened screams erupted from somewhere in the palace. The girl stopped walking and perked up her ears to listen. The screams continued unevenly and erratically, getting louder and falling short repeatedly. Someone was shouting incoherently.

The bodies had obviously been discovered.

The girl adjusted the scythe into her hand, carrying it around as she was wielding a club. She kept moving; she was only there to survey the palace for a little bit longer.

"Not my problem," she muttered unsympathetically, but she did hold much pity for the unfortunate guests who had stumbled across the carnage. "No time for subtlety."

She continued on her route, remaining in the halls that were most likely to be empty. She concentrated hard. Her senses told her that the majority of the priests that lived were quickly fleeing the palace. The discovery, she knew, had sent them scurrying like vermin.

The girl concentrated all the further, letting her mind reach into a void. The eyes of her mind searched, found what it was looking for, and spoke.

" _ **Seph?"**_

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the palace, Sephiroth had cleanly ambushed a group of priests who had been in the middle of fleeing. They never knew what had hit them; he preferred stealth above all other tactics. Though, with the panicked shrieks he heard from elsewhere, he started to believe that there was no point in it.

" _ **Seph?"**_

The voice of another man spoke right into his head. Sephiroth stepped over the heap of bodies and continued onward, stalking the halls.

" _ **Yes, what is it?"**_ he replied in the same fashion.

" _ **Would you mind stopping what you are doing?"**_  he asked.  _ **"I need to you to go to the Cathedral."**_

Sephiroth frowned in distaste.  _ **"Straight into the heart of corruption, eh? Why?"**_

" _ **I want you to destroy twenty of it supporting pillars."**_

" _ **Only twenty of them?"**_

" _ **Is that a problem?"**_

" _ **No, no. You are the mastermind."**_

There was a short, pregnant pause.

" _ **What happens after this?"**_  Sephiroth asked.

" _ **Go back home for the time being. Keep a vigilant eye. And as for the princess… please feel free to kill anyone who throws a death glance in her general direction."**_

At that, Sephiroth chuckled lightly.

" _ **What?"**_  the man asked.

" _ **The moment I saw that you were wearing red,"**_  he replied, _ **"I knew it was going to be that kind of night."**_

" _ **Yes, but**_ _ **I**_ _ **personally would have liked a clearer warning."**_

" _ **Only in a perfect world."**_

There was another pause. A much longer pause.

" _ **Dollface?"**_  Sephiroth asked.

" _ **I think a hot bath would be in order after this,"**_  came a weary reply.  _ **"And I mean it, Seph. Extra vigilance. Right now, everyone is suspect!**_

" _ **Someone needs a hug."**_

And the mental connection between them suddenly ended. Sephiroth examined the large sword in his hand with some uneasiness.

"I am going to need something better than this."

 

 

The girl stood right in front of a window that overlooked the Cathedral of Gelinde in the far distance. She sighed quietly and laid her hands on the glass; it was freezing cold and stimulating.

"I would surmise that one would feel uneasy making such a drastic decision," she said, "but I do not. And  _You_  know as well what truly rests in there. Your dwelling place is not in that building… but in the hearts of man."

She breathed deeply through her nose, as if she were inhaling something potent. Her mental preparation was nearly complete.

A noxious, loathsome presence began to fill the halls. The girl tensed inwardly, but it was more out of discomfort rather than being troubled. She heard soft footsteps coming from behind, and they stopped only a few feet away.

"Hello, child. How have you been?"

The girl turned her head. Jenova was smiling with an almost motherly sweetness, her arms folded against her ample chest. Without truly acknowledging the woman, she reined her line of vision back towards the Cathedral.

"'Likewise, son of man," the girl quoted, "set your face against the daughters of your people, who prophesy out of their own heart; prophesy against them, and say, 'Thus says the Lord God: "Woe to the women who sew magic charms on their sleeves and veils for the heads of people of every height to hunt souls! Will you hunt the souls of My people, and keep yourselves alive? And will you profane Me among My people for handfuls of barley and for pieces of bread, killing people who should not die, and keeping people alive who should not live, by your lying to My people who listen to lies?'"

Jenova narrowed her eyes mockingly, still smiling. "My, my. Such a cold greeting. Has it not been more than fifty years since we last spoke to each other?"

"Would you expect anything less," she replied with blatant curtness, "after everything you have done. After the stunt you pulled last night?"

"Now, now!" Jenova playfully countered, raising her hand in defense. "I never intended to harm the girl. At least, not yet. I only wished to speak with her. But… when my poor idiots realized that you were there, they… lost their heads. Some of them… quite literally lost their heads, if I am not mistaken."

The girl tilted her head back and exhaled.

"Why are you worked up over that pathetic creature? After all, even if she is what she is… that girl is still only human."

The girl shook her head and grinned lightly. "The reason is quite simple. But if that is your attitude on the subject, then I would rather not try to explain. You would not be able to comprehend it."

Jenova chuckled darkly and maliciously.

"Poor, little Cloud. So taken in by the little princess…"

A powerful force suddenly hit her, strangely like a gentle breeze. Jenova gasped, stunned rather than frightened, but she did not move. A cut appeared on her well-preserved cheek; a small blood trail trickled down to her jaw. The girl never flinched.

"The moment you sold your talents to the filth of your own machinations…" she said to Jenova, "your power degraded into witchcraft. And from that moment on, you were no longer of the House of Fundelstein."

The girl turned and glared at Jenova, her face twisted in rage. "So do not call me by that name as if you still are!"

And then, in the blink of an eye, Jenova was standing alone in the hallway. She calmly wiped the blood off of her cheek with her index finger.

"How very interesting," she murmured.

She smirked, gazing fondly at her bloodied finger, and licked it clean.

 

 

The tunnels were very cold. Tifa shivered uncontrollably, but she did not utter a complaint. She could hardly see a foot in front of her face, save for the end of the tunnel that had finally appeared in her sight. Clementine was leading her at a rushed, but strangely, unflappable pace.

"So chilly," Clementine groused, as if she had not a care in the world. "But I suppose this kind of weather is to be expected. Why do tunnels seem so long when you need to get to the end in a hurry? "

Tifa had no desire to ask any more questions.

"Feeling a light better?" the older woman inquired.

Tifa allowed herself a light groan.

"Nevermind. That was foolish thing to ask."

They were very close. Tifa could now see the rain… and lights? There were no lampposts in this part of the palace grounds. How could someone have set up lights in such a heavy storm?

Rather than ask, she resolved to step through the threshold and find out for herself. And she did. As soon as they had come out at the other end, Tifa realized that the rain was not soaking her. Instead, Tifa found that Clementine let go of her hand and was now leading her down an ornate, stone walkway. There was an overhang protecting them from the downpour, and only little sprinkles attached themselves to her face. This walkway was not a structure within Ulbrecht Palace. Not that she was aware of.

The walkway had lanterns.

She heard the sound of a door slamming shut, and she jumped. Tifa turned back and saw a large door that they had apparently come out from. But the tunnels of Ulbrecht had no doors. She drew a startled breath and trotted closer to Clementine for relief.

"Feel free to relax now," the Queen told her. "We are completely out of danger."

"We are no longer in Gelinde," Tifa said (a firm statement and not a question).

She happened to glance down and saw a river flowing underneath, a similar construction to the first palace she had walked, but the bridge she crossed was much closer to the ground, and she could make out the outlines of a garden.

A second door on the other side was already opened for them. The two ladies shuffled inside, finally escaping the cold at last, and Lord Rhapsodos shut it behind them.

"Your timing is impeccable, Genesis," Clementine praised.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Genesis replied. "And you were right. As usual. The sky was as clear only a short while ago, but then, this storm came out of nowhere."

"Hmm."

Tifa examined the foyer they had entered. Two niches that were decorated with some sort of foreign, white flower flanked her. Genesis acknowledged her without a word and bowed his head respectfully.

"How long shall this last?" he asked the Queen.

"On and off," Clementine declared. "Fluctuating between heavy and merely misty… until this week has ended."

She handed Genesis the bloody knife.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Please clean it for me," she commanded politely. "I want to keep it. It is a good knife."

Clementine gave Tifa a serious look. "You still have the priest pendant?"

Tifa quickly showed her that it was around her neck, hanging along with her platinum cross pendant. Clementine was pleased.

"Furthermore," she instructed Genesis, "have my maids prepare the guest room on the south side of my apartment… And have them draw us my bath. I also want a tray prepared for her soon after… and make sure is that she is watched over at all times. But I will not stand to have her privacy violated. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Genesis lowered her head, but there was a visible disquiet in his eyes.

"What is the matter?" Clementine asked.

"Begging your pardon," he answered, "but will you do me the honor of answering a question for my sake?"

"Go on?"

"A few moments ago, my master…the prince… briefly returned to fetch Masamune. And he was snickering. I simply wished to know if you would be able to tell me  **why**."

 

 

Crack!

Crash!

Boom!

The first pillar toppled to the ground in a mix of smoky powder and chunks of sliced debris. Sephiroth calmly sidestepped out of the way, not wanting to get covered in plaster dust. He ran two of his fingers along the flat side of a decidedly lengthy sword, smirking confidently that he had chosen the right tool for the task, watched his handiwork with the delight of an artisan (though he was far from satiated).

Willing all of his energy into his newly acquired blade, he casually walked forward towards the next pillar, standing several yards away. He gracefully thrust and waved the sword seemingly in the air with strategically placed strikes. He continued onward to the next pillar, repeating the action in a similar action, and as he moved on, the second pillar promptly sliced into many pieces and collapsed in the same manner as the first.

"Actually, I though this would be tedious," he mused (listening to the demolition of the third pillar but stalking the fourth without looking back), "but this is more fun than I expected…"

He only hoped that he could accomplish the task without much interruption.

 

 

The library of the Cathedral was dark, with very little light to guide the way. But then, a flame flickered, and a lamp was lit. Somewhere close by, another lamp was kindled… and another in mere seconds. Throughout the entire room, lamps and candlesticks, sitting on their stands, were ignited in a wavelike succession, until the entire room was bright with nary a shadow.

The girl appeared in front of the set of candles on a candelabrum and set it aflame by hand with a match. She was unarmed and completely alone in the library, standing in the furthest corner, flanked by two of the dustiest shelves in the sprawling room. However, the books were moderately clean; someone had recently examined them.

Taking the candelabrum, she emerged from between the shelves. At every step she took, the books suddenly shifted, slid out from their ledges, and vanished into thin air. The girl kept a diligent pace, hands folded behind her back, and marched between two rows of wooden shelves. The books continued to disappear. But when she came to the end of the two rows, she stopped and shook her head.

"Not fast enough," she muttered.

The girl hurriedly walked out of the neglected corner and skillfully navigated the twists and turns of the library. She came to a rail, and down on the next level below, she found a large space with an empty wingchair placed smack dab in the middle. This spot was the very heart of the library.

With one graceful bound, she leapt up and stood on the railing. With another, she stepped right off and floated down to the ground like a feather, landing only a few feet away from the armchair. The girl walked up to it and set the candelabrum on the floor. She sat down in the chair, closed her eyes, and gently laid both of her hands on the armrests.

She willed her entire body to relax, and she became absolutely still. After a moment, if one had seen her, she looked as if she were in a deep sleep.

A strange resonance, almost like a mild earthquake, shook the entire room. The girl inhaled slowly and exhaled even more slowly. And then, all of the books in the library moved out of their shelves, and they began to disappear section by section. Even some of the paintings scattered about the room went along with them. After ten minutes had passed, the library was cleaned out in all totality, right down to handwritten annals of the history of Gelinde.

The girl breathed her nose, and the room shook more violently than the first time. The stands of the candlesticks and lamps wobbled and fell to the floor with a crash. Their oil flowed on the ground, the flames licking at their trail, and some of it splattered onto the shelves and tapestries. The small fires began to grow, eating away at the wood and attacking other flammable objects.

Her eyes flapped open, a curved half-smirk on her lips, and she stood up from the chair. The air was becoming pernicious with the fumes of smoke, and the fires had become all consuming.

The girl walked off and disappeared again, leaving the library to go up in increasingly gluttonous flames.

 

 

" _ **Seph?"**_

" _ **Hmmmmmm?"**_

" _ **You can raze the other twenty pillars now. My business here is done."**_

 

 

It was just before midnight in the city of Royals. The train passengers huddled under their umbrellas. Most of the priests, Father Kisaragi among them, had gathered slowly at the train station and embarked before everyone else. There were few other passengers to board the train, so the stationmaster was more than eager to give the priests an entire car. The train station was in the habit of giving the Church special treatment.

All passengers boarded the train, and then, the train left the station at a quarter past twelve. Within the same hour, the train was barreling just outside of the city.

Godo sat in his passenger seat, clearly agitated by the events that had taken place. Nevertheless, he was pacified to be out of city limits. The cabin was dark.

"What do we do now, Your Eminence?" asked a priest, who sat right across from him in the cabin.

Godo huffed and acknowledged him, an assisting priest that he could easily rely on. The priest waited with a nervous forbearance.

"The most important thing at this moment," Godo replied, "is to hide ourselves in the shadows. Those of us who are still alive but unable to come… we will wait a while until they come. They know where to go. After that, we shall have a strategy."

The cabin became quiet. Godo shut his eyes and thought deeply on this unexpected situation.

 _How?_  he wondered.  _How were they able to thwart us so easily? This was a plan made in secret… and many years ago. And I had given the order to set it in motion only a little more than a month ago? Is there a seer among them?_

Godo shook his head, scoffing at the idea.  _No, a seeress could never exist amongst their impure kind. And even if there was such a thing, that is far from the matter. I did not realize that_ _ **he**_ _would have the audacity to approach that troublesome girl on his own. If they are truly here, watching over her, then our operations are stunted._

"And how long is a while?" the priest asked.

The High Priest came out of his thoughts. "Perhaps, we shall wait for two or three…"

The train came to a screeching, sudden halt. Godo was shoved back into the cushion of his seat, and the priest was thrown to the ground. The entire car was filled with surprised yells and pained thumps. And then, the train became still.

A few minutes passed, and the priest cautiously rose to his feet, rubbing his sore parts.

"What on earth was that!?" he cried.

Godo remained in his seat. He gritted his teeth.

The priest straightened himself and reached for the cabin door. "Your Eminence, let me check on the situation."

"Hmmm," Godo encouraged.

The cabin door was opened, and he stepped out. The halls of the cabin were dimly lit. A few cabins away, the priest saw one of his fellow comrades lying in the doorway. There were two others along the cabin, one slumped to the wall and other lying prone on the floor. Shocked and terrified, he ran over to the first of his fallen friends and tried to rouse him. There was no response.

The priest shifted his body and saw at once that his neck was turned sharply at a crude angle. He was dead.

He set the body down, almost revolted, and peered into the opened cabin. There were three other priests inside, killed in the same manner. By the silence in the car, it was not hard to guess what had become of the entire company.

The lone priest sat on his knees, staring at the body before him, and breathed erratically. A hand reached out and gently touched him. He slowly turned, trembling in horror, and yelped.

The girl was kneeling right behind him, glaring at him. He tried to pull her off, but she moved close and breathed deeply onto his face. Instantly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he fell unconscious in her arms. She took care laying him down next to the corpse and then stood up to survey the damage.

Godo emerged from his cabin, his arms folded in his robes. He was not surprised to see her.

"You know," she said to him, still examining the car, "the only reason I have not touched you yet… the only reason I reason I restrained myself from laying hands on you before… it is because I lack the authority to interfere with the politics of this kingdom. But now that you have gone this far… I can no longer ignore you."

Father Kisaragi scowled defiantly and raised his chin.

"Aster Fundelstein," he said. "I assume I should be honored."

"If you are going to bother addressing me," he replied, "get on your knees and call me Your Majesty… you insolent pig."


	12. XI: The night is still so young...

By then, the news had reached the celebration. The ballroom turned into a cacophony of reactions. Some guests fell silent; mirth and death did not mix. Others became panicked and anxious; ladies fainted at the very thought of carnage, and many gentlemen suddenly felt an urgent need to be elsewhere. The majority, however, despite their gasps and cries, were overwrought with excitement; for them, the party had just become all the more interesting!

 

But Aerith simply went pale. And she did not seem to notice the chaos happening around her. She dropped the wine glass in her hand, and it shattered on the floor. Some of the wine spilled on the hem of her dress, leaving a stain that nearly looked like blood.

 

The Prince of Kiel winced in alarm and moved to help her. He called a servant to clean up the mess. Elena watched from a short distance and sighed.

 

“My lady!” he said. “Are you alright?”

 

Aerith covered her mouth and shook her head. “No! Oh no! Not again!”

 

She rushed past him, her eyes trained towards the front doors. But Elena moved swiftly and held her back.

 

“Let me go!” Aerith cried sharply.

 

“Your highness!” Elena hissed quietly. “Calm down!”

 

“I command you to let me go!”

 

“What would you do **if** I did let you go!? Eh?”

 

“But—!”

 

Elena twirled her mistress around and glared at her. Aerith trembled as if she was having a seizure.

 

“How would you being there accomplish anything?” Elena asked. “Eh? Tell me!”

 

“And I should stay here and do nothing!? ” Aerith countered. “‘No! Better to be there than to hide away! This has been happening too frequently… this is the second time today! ‘Tis is a nightmare! I cannot simply stand by and wait… as I usually do! When he comes to his senses, I should—!”

 

“That is not what **he** desires,” her servant replied coldly.

 

Aerith swallowed, and her head dropped. “But am I his…”

 

Elena narrowed her eyes and touched the arms of her mistress with a comforting grip. The crowd moved around them, too preoccupied to notice.

 

But Zack watched their hushed argument with confusion. What, he thought, would they be speaking of so earnestly while the rest of guests were rushing away from a disaster?

 

“Forgive me,” Elena said, “but even as you begleiter, I must insist that you continue to play guest. I am sure everything will calm down by morning—”

 

“Nothing will ever be calm,” her mistress muttered.

 

Elena blinked and sighed again. Aerith raised her head, her eyes still downcast.

 

“That girl…” she said bitterly.

 

“Your highness,” Elena said in a warning tone.

 

“Eighteen years. If it will be truly be over soon… what should a few more days mean to me…?”

 

Zack slowly approached the ladies and cleared his throat. Aerith winced, having almost completely forgotten him.

 

“Is there something the matter?” he asked. “If I am not asking the obvious?”

 

Elena released her mistress. Aerith did not move and only swayed, looking very tired.

 

“No, Your Highness,” Elena replied professionally. “It is only a matter of… family business.”

 

Zack eyed her suspiciously, but he did not say another word. He hardly made it a habit to question a woman.

 

00000

 

The High Priest of Gelinde glared at his enemy. The King of Dammerung stared back.

 

Godo, for the most part, assumed that he was about to die. And yet, Aster made no move to attack or lay hands on him. He wore no expression on his face, and Godo could not read his eyes. And the fact that his enemy deceptively appeared as a diminutive young woman—it was disorienting indeed.

 

After a moment or two, Aster closed his eyes and snorted.

 

“I was planning on killing you as soon as I caught you,” he mused casually, “…but… that would not do at all… not for a thousand years’ worth of sin. Too _boring_. Too quick. I would… rather see you in agony a bit…”

 

“Agony?” Godo replied, smiling darkly. “As in torture? Ah, such a vicious but petty revenge for a witch of the royal family.”

 

Aster smiled lightly and chuckled. “ _Witch_? You and priests love to fling that word upon whomever you please! And if you think that is the only reason I want to punish you, you are blinder than I could have ever imagined! I will say it again: the only reason I restrained myself… was because I lacked the authority.”

 

Godo scoffed in disgust. “Authority? What authority you speak of, oh King of the demons?”

 

Aster cocked his head with some amusement. “Why do you call us _demons_? As far as I am concerned, we share the same Enemy.”

 

“Cease your unholy practices,” Godo said, “and perhaps, your words will have more merit! You—your people overstep their bounds. Bending the laws of nature to make it your toy!?”

 

Aster smirked and threw his head back in ear-piercing laughter. The train car shook, and the window shattered all around them. Godo felt himself shrink.

 

“Forgive me! Please forgive me! How perfectly hilarious! It has been so long since I have heard someone talk like that! You sound exactly as my father when he uttered anti-human propaganda! In fact… you are almost as terrible as Jenova herself! Whenever I hear a person spouting such self-serving **_nonsense_** … it makes me want to vomit!”

 

“You…”

 

“Nature was given to us as a holy gift. Therefore, nature is for us to bend in the first place—whether for pleasure or for duty. Are you truly so ignorant of the wishes of your own Maker?”

 

“How dare you!? Whether you take my life or not, you will never change what I am. I am the High Priest of Gelinde. The true spokesman of God! The leader of the Holy Church!”

 

Aster grinned widely, his eyes going wild. “Of course. You are the leader of the Church. And you will continue to be so for a little while longer. Though, I hope it will not be too difficult for you… now that your Cathedral lies in ruins.”

 

Godo froze in horror.

 

“What have you done!?”

 

Aster slowly came upon the High Priest, his eyes hardening. The car shook again, and a crippling force brought Godo down on his back. He cried out as he hit the floor with a thud.

 

“You think that **you** are of God…High Priest?” Aster mocked. “You filthy liar! Hypocrite! Even if He came before you in **_broad daylight_** and **_slapped_ ** you across the face, you would never recognize Him! You—who would abandon his own daughter and sell her as if she was faulty merchandise! You—who would callously murder a woman barely eighteen—if you could!? You—who would be willing to slaughter blameless children! In the end, all you can ever care for is power! Control! It was never about… **_unholiness_**! You and the Church of this land—you could not afford anyone else to be more powerful than you! After all, once your congregation realized their true potential… where would that leave you? What would they have to fear? If the people discovered that the Princess of Gelinde possessed more power than the High Priest himself, what would happen to the hold you have on the royal family?”

 

The High Priest grunted in pain, feeling a boot grind into his neck. Aster quietly hummed a tune as his captive struggled to get free. 

 

“Do you want to know why it rained,” he asked, “when you said the weather would be clear? Do you want to know why you can no longer see the future? How can you see the future… of a world in which there is no future to **see**? This world is falling apart fast, and I want you to watch!”

 

He simpered childishly and bent over, pressing his foot down with a special harshness. Godo gurgled in response.

 

“Yes…” he sang. “I want you to see it all to the bitter end. It would be terrible if you died **_now_**. So, I will have to ask you to tolerate us _demons_ for a few more days. I hope you will not mind!”

 

Godo was unduly released, and he grabbed his neck, gasping and coughing for air. He opened his eyes, his vision blurred. Aster was kneeling right over him, eyes wide and lips pursed together, as if he was containing something in his body. Aster reached out and seized his head with a hard grip. Godo convulsed, and his eyes bulged. He violently tried to pry the hand off of his face, but his hands trembled too much to grasp anything.  A strangled, bestial sound came out from his throat.

 

“Still…” Aster continued, “Even if I do want you to stay for a little while longer… I never said I wanted you intact…”

 

00000

 

Tifa felt a shiver go down her spine. And the bathwater was quite hot.

 

“Is something wrong, dear?”

 

She winced sheepishly. The strange woman—whom she had nearly been able to ignore—was bathing a few yards away. The last person that she ever bathed with was Yuffie, and that was twelve years ago. She wished that the Queen had not insisted on sharing her bathing pool. How could one refuse a request from someone of higher rank!?

 

“Nothing,” Tifa replied, sinking lower into the bath. “I am simply… overwrought.”

 

“I know what you mean,” Clementine replied. “When I first became queen, there were a total of thirteen attempts on my life… and that was only the **first** year.”

 

Tifa turned around in shock, almost swallowing bathwater in the process.

 

“You...” she squeaked.

 

Clementine calmly rinsed her arm with a sponge, chest in full view. Tifa flushed and turned back around.

 

“And I was pregnant the whole time!” the Queen added. “Though, my second husband—my late husband—faced almost thrice as much danger as I did. But that was no surprise; he was a tyrant… and a complete **monster**.”

 

Tifa coughed sympathetically. She was used to hearing of unhappy marriages. “Was it arranged?”

 

“Arranged?” Clementine asked. “The marriage. Not… exactly.”

 

“Then—?” Tifa questioned.

 

“It is a long… and unfortunate story. Probably not something you want to hear before you go to sleep. If you **can** sleep, that is. Let us just say that my beauty was a curse… and we will leave it at that for the night.”

 

Tifa went silent with some regret. She had only wanted to keep her mind off of the horror that was now her life.

 

“I am—” she began.

 

Clementine splashed water into her face. Tifa spluttered in surprise, and she giggled.

 

“Come on!” Clementine chided playfully. “There is no need to fret over my past troubles, especially when you have your own. My second husband has been dead for a very long time now. And you are safe and sound. No more frowns.”

 

Tifa pinched, nodding mechanically. “Y-yes, your Highness.”

 

The Queen swam lazily to the edge of the pool. At the edge, there was a large bowl with another sponge. She replaced the used one with the clean, and a maid scampered over and took the bowl away.

 

“You have not washed yourself, dear,” Clementine said.

 

“J-just enjoying the soak,” Tifa replied.

 

“I will wash your back.”

 

Tifa blanched in protest and tried to speak. But Clementine stared back with a gentle smile… and a hypnotic, domineering look. In the end, Tifa turned around, rose up from the water, exposing her back, and covered her breasts with her hands as best she could. She swallowed.

 

Clementine pressed the sponge against her back, squeezing out an odd substance. Tifa stood still and shivered.

 

“You have good skin,” Clementine complimented. “A bit grey, though. Your ill health, no doubt.”

 

“It usually gets better during the summer,” Tifa managed to answer. “…Thank you.”

 

“No worries. I assure you that you will never be ill again.”

 

Tifa relaxed as the older woman made circular motions on her back. The heat and the bath oils were making her drowsy.

 

“Ah, so pretty!” Clementine cooed. “So cute! I have been watching you. You are not the same type of beauty as my lovely stepdaughter to be; she is… more like a rose. But you, my dear—you are more like a porcelain doll. I think I like your **nose** best of all. You are a few inches too thin, but all you need is a year on a new daily diet, along the right herbal treatments. Ah, and I am sure your skin with take on a lovely peach…”

 

“Um…”

 

Tifa was used to being complimented for her looks by those who believed they were plainer or those who were equal in their own right… not by someone with fuller lips, a **_healthier_** figure, creamy smooth skin to her “porcelain”, and intimidating, white teeth.

 

As her neck was washed, as she felt the motherly chest of a stranger against her hair, she was finally beginning to feel… safe again.

 

00000

 

In another part of the palace, within one of the private chambers, Lucy was having a hard time going to sleep. She dosed lightly, constantly changing sleep positions, and gritted her teeth with a low growl.

 

Suddenly, she heard a small noise, and her ear twitched. She didn’t move.

 

“You grit your teeth in your sleep,” Sephiroth replied.

 

“And **you** drool…” Lucy countered tiredly.

 

Sephiroth stood over her, dropping his jaw. “I what!?”

 

Lucy covered her mouth and snickered.

 

With a defeated sigh, he slipped into bed. She scooted closer and clung to his arm.

 

“And what brings you to my rooms?” she asked coyly.

 

“I beg your pardon,” he answered, “but these are **_my_** rooms.”

 

“It is?…Hmmm… I forgot. I was wondering why this bed was so large. I must be sleepier than I thought.”

 

“Not too tired I hope.” He latched onto her and hungrily nuzzled her neck.

 

“Easy there!” she warned, retreating slightly. “I am not in the mood.”

 

“Morning sickness again?” he drawled.

 

Lucy squeaked. “How did—!? No, I have just been under the weather… a light stomach flu.”

 

Sephiroth rolled over, nestling his head in his pillows. “The maids say you have been craving cherries, garlic bread, eggplant… and I know that you **_abhor_** eggplant—”

 

“Shut up!” she barked, sitting up. “I am NOT with child! I refuse!”

 

Sephiroth eyed her incredulously, even though she could not see his face. He moved to the side of the bed and lit a lantern on the nightstand. Lucy sat up straight, dolled up in her primrose nightgown, and finger-combed her black hair. He had come to bed shirtless and without a care. They sat directly across from each other, and stared each other down.

 

“It is not as if you can simply reject it, love,” Sephiroth reasoned. “Neither can I, for that matter—”

 

“With all due respect, dear husband…” Lucy began, “you are not allowed to procreate yet. You are NOT ready. I should be the one to decide. I am fifty years your senior, so I get the last say in—”

 

He chuckled inwardly.

 

“Funny…” he replied. “Before he decided to arrange the marriage, he used to tell me that I should never consider reproducing at **all**. He feared that the child would end up looking like Jenova or Kadaj… or even worse, my **father** …”

 

“Nonsense!” she argued with a laugh. “It would look exactly like **me**!”

 

He sighed with a scowl and looked away.

 

“You are joking, right?” she asked.

 

An annoyed expression appeared on his face.

 

“He was a child when he first told me that,” he revealed. “And for nearly a century, I honestly believed he was just being possessive…”

 

Lucille Fundelstein facepalmed.

 

“Three months shy of eleven,” Sephiroth muttered, covering his face, “and he was already a snarky, little bastard…”

 

“That was because he already knew who he was,” Lucy replied.

 

“I think he let me marry you because you **_think_** like him.”

 

“Well, I am his Archduchess…”

 

“And if you **are** pregnant?”

 

Lucy rolled her eyes and patted her stomach. “I shall bite the bullet.”

 

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow and laid on his stomach, burying his face into the pillows. Lucy leaned over and rested her cheek in the palm of her hand.

 

“Why does everyone I love enjoy kicking me after I have fallen?” he murmured.

 

“Aerith does not kick you,” she replied.

 

“She sniggers up her sleeve. Same difference.”

 

Lucy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. She lazily brushed his hair off of his back. His back was crisscrossed with scars.

 

“Change of subject?” she offered.

 

“Lucy, you are my favorite woman,” he replied in agreement.

 

Lucy stuck out her tongue.

 

“We can talk about matters of state.”

 

“Not in bed, please. Or my dreams will be colored in gray.”

 

“Why not? I thought you would at least be overjoyed…now that Father Kisaragi is dead. With that out of the way… we can fully concentrate on—”

 

“We did not kill Kisaragi,” Sephiroth corrected.

 

Lucy nearly fell over into the duvet. “What!? Why ever not!? ”

 

“It would have been more _merciful_ if we had just killed the damned priest,” he mused with a cruel chuckle, “but at the last minute, he decided to be… creative…”

 

Lucy frowned. “Most people fear his ‘creativity’.”

 

Her husband shrugged. “To each his own.”

 

“So… what **did** he do?” she prodded.

 

“He gave the High Priest… a glimpse of the abyss,” he replied casually.

 

Lucy gasped in shock. For a few minutes, the bedroom became silent. Sephiroth patiently waited for a response.

 

“F…Father Kisaragi has not been touched by the Vermengte. If he were to see that—!”

 

“— I know,” Sephiroth replied.

 

Lucy pursed her lips and balled up, hugging her knees.

 

“I will not be able to sleep to **that** tonight,” she whispered.

 

“Well, at least he is out of the way,” he reminded her.

 

“Death **would** have been easier… I almost feel… sorry for him.”

 

Sephiroth reached over and touched her hand. “But not quite?”

 

Lucy gave him a weak smile and shook her head. “But not quite.”

 

She grabbed his hand and clung to him.

 

 

00000

 

Even though some were able to rest in peace, Ulbrecht Palace was still in an uproar. As the guards frantically removed the bodies and the nobility fled to their rooms for the night, it was already known that the Princess of Gelinde had vanished. No one—her new companions, her begleiter Yuffie, her governess Shera, or anyone else—knew where she had gone. The grounds were being thoroughly searched. To say that the King was distraught would have been putting it mildly.

 

After being interviewed by Verdot and the King himself, Shera ushered the ladies back into the dwelling place of the Princess. As she left them to be tended to by the maids, she wondered aloud where Lucrecia had run off.

 

The ladies were left in a daze as they were helped out of their ball gowns. Priscilla cried tears of fright, and a maid silently wiped them away.

 

An hour later, they quietly gathered around in one of the sitting rooms. A maid had brought them a tisane on order to help them sleep. They gathered at a round table, drinking their herbs, barely giving each other a glance. Jessie glared over her tea, and was the first to notice that Elfe remained stone cold about the whole thing.

 

“Do you think… this is a kidnapping?” Priscilla pondered nervously.

 

“What do the dead priests have to do with her disappearing?” Jessie answered curtly.

 

“All at the same time?” Yuffie deadpanned bitterly.

 

“I hear that the priests were armed with daggers and short blades,” Elfe revealed.

 

“That is ridiculous!” Jessie retorted. “Why would holy priests be armed with weapons?”

 

Yuffie let out an ugly chortle. “You would be shocked at what the Church of Gelinde has up its sleeves!”

 

Jessie went quiet. Elfe poured herself a second cup, ignoring the tension.

 

“Are you not the daughter of the High Priest, Lady Kisaragi?” Priscilla asked meekly.

 

Yuffie responded with silence. She stood up, moving away from the table, and pensively sipped on her tisane.

 

 _I wonder what Father has done this time,_ she thought sadly. _Princess, please be alright…_

 

00000

 

In the wee hours of the morning, Tifa was woken up by a knock at the door. Her eyes opened wide, and she sprang up in bed. She had nearly forgotten where she was.

 

There was a moment of silence, and the knocks continued.

 

“Princess,” a voice called out. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Yes,” Tifa replied breathlessly. “Please… enter.”

 

The door creaked open, and a plump little maid entered the bedroom with a lamp. She squinted her eyes at the light.

 

“I beg your pardon,” the maid said. “But… I was instructed to come and fetch you.”

 

The maid calmly put the lamp on a table near the door. She picked a robe that was folded on the bed stand and flapped it open. Tifa rubbed her eyes and climbed out of the bed; she found this much easier, for the bed was much lower than the one she usually slept in. Her new nightgown endlessly trailed behind her.

 

The maid waited patiently as she put on her slippers.

 

“What am I being summoned for?” Tifa asked, while she was helped into her robe. She was thankful for the cover; she was not used to sleeping in a sleeveless, backless gown.

 

The maid clucked, spinning her round, and fastened the clasps on the robe.

 

“His Majesty wishes to speak to you,” she chirped. “Right now.”

 

Tifa almost swallowed her tongue. The maid looked her in the face and smiled.

 

“Breathe,” she instructed her.

 

Tifa took a deep breath.

 

00000

 

About a half and hour later, Tifa found herself standing in front of two large doors. Each had a bronze knocker. A lantern was hanging on the wall.

 

The maid glanced carefully at her lamp and moved away from her side.

 

“I am forbidden from going any further,” she told Tifa. “You must go the rest of the way yourself. Goodnight, Your Highness.”

 

The maid bowed her head and walked away without another word. Tifa watched tiredly her go until she disappeared behind a corner. But when her shadow vanished, Tifa was suddenly struck with fright.

 

She was all alone.

 

With _him_.

 

Tifa shivered anxiously and slowly looked towards the door again. The knockers were glistening in the dim light. She reached for the one on the left.

 

 ** _“No need to knock, dear girl,”_** he said in her mind. **_“Just come in.”_**

 

Tifa jumped back, and the doors opened wide, revealing a darkened bridge. She stared dumbly. The air smelled of after-rain; the downpour had stopped for the time being.

 

**_“No dawdling. Please come in.”_ **

 

Something pushed her from behind and she stumbled onto the bridge. The doors shut and the locks clicked. No way back. Tifa gulped, resigned to her path, and braced herself against the cold. Another door was just on the other side. The wood creaked at her every step. As she neared it, it opened for her, and she stepped into the next room without a fuss. It closed behind her, and she was warm again.

 

Tifa continued on, moving through a foyer, and she saw a light at the end of another hall. She followed the light, almost holding her breath. The closer she came to the door, the more she could hear the rustling of papers. When she finally reached the door, she stepped into the room without bothering to knock.

 

The first thing she saw was a large fireplace, almost as large as the one in the chambers of her father. The fire was burning well, and the scent of the wood was… very familiar. The sound of paper shuffling caught her ears.

 

To her bewilderment, at the very end of the room, Aster Fundelstein himself was sitting behind a large desk. With documents on his desk. While pressing ink onto a seal. Looking very disinterested.

 

The bell was sitting was sitting in a corner. The blue ribbon hung over the edge.

 

He stamped his seal onto the document before him and blew on the ink. After rolling up the document, tying up it up with a black ribbon, and dropping it into a modest, finished stack, he glanced over and took notice the unfinished stack. It was piled into a very tall pyramid. He sighed wearily and carefully removed the next document.

 

A few rolled up papers were lying on the ground.

 

“I did not miss this task…” he said to himself.

 

Tifa walked towards him, trying to form her words.

 

“I…” she murmured. “Excuse me…?”

 

“ ‘It would be great to be king,’ I thought,” Aster mumbled to himself, browsing the next document. “ ‘Just splendid’ I said. ‘No one would bother me anymore with his or her silly demands and so-called critiques’, I believed. And I now, instead of simply hearing it from my nannies and the nobility, I get to listen to the whole kingdom as its **_whines_** like a bawling infant… from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep! I wish someone had informed me that the term “Father to a nation” was to be taken **literally**.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Tifa asked.

 

“You want to become a queen, I am right?” he replied. “Let me tell this right now: it will include paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork… ”

 

He inked the seal and gave the document a forceful stamp. “And early morning conferences. Hmm, at least I get to see Sephiroth yawn. He looks exactly like a cat!”

 

“Who?”

 

Aster moved onto the next inquest.

 

Tifa coughed slightly. “Speaking of cats… did you truly find it necessary to disguise yourself as one… in order to ingratiate yourself towards me?”

 

Aster looked up from his task, staring back with his usual, blank mien. Tifa felt herself loosing her nerve.

 

He whipped the bundle of papers open; the sound echoed through the room.

 

“That was never my intention.”

 

“But you—”

 

“I had originally planned to gain the pity of the servants in Ulbrecht. I was only going to rest for a while, heal my injuries, and disappear until it was time to come for you. But… I never counted on **you** being the one to rescue me. And then, you decided to make me your animal companion. You even put that bell around my neck. A bit inconvenient, since I had to sneak out all of the time, but what was I to do? I had not the heart to leave… and your lap was…

 

Aster averted his eyes, and Tifa could have sworn that he was blushing.

 

“…very comfy…” he finished. 

 

“Are you saying this was my fault!?” Tifa asked in disbelief.

 

“Not at all,” he replied. “If you want something to blame… blame providence. Besides, it seems to have benefited us all in the end.”

 

“You… bathed in my water…”

 

“I needed a bath. I refuse to **_lick_** myself.”

 

Tifa grew quiet, unable to bring herself to laugh.

 

Aster went through a few more documents in silence. The tip of his tongue was sticking out.

 

“So, to apologize for the trouble,” he said, “I got the seamstress to prepare something for you…”

 

“Wait, that is not necessary—” Tifa replied.

 

Without looking up from the papers, he pointed towards something behind her. Tifa turned around, and behind her, there was a large couch… with a white dress draped over it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she moved towards the couch to look at it.

 

It was the same basic shape of the dress her father had given her, but the dress itself had been wonderfully reborn. She touched the fabric and lifted it up to get a better look. It was sewn up with silver thread, the bubble sleeves had been replaced with long sleeves, and it would probably be off her shoulders now.

 

“Father will have a stroke when if sees me in this…” she said, eyeing the v-neck.

 

“Would you rather wear that abomination to your looks?” Aster asked.

 

Tifa turned back to him. He busily continued going through the mountain of documents, tossing one out from time to time; she noticed circles that were beginning to from under his eyes. He looked terribly bored… but quite peaceful.

 

Was this honestly the same person she had meet hours ago?

 

She hugged the dress to her chest, swallowing for courage. Her mind was swimming with thoughts. Nevermind his unsettling behavior. He **had** saved her life… several times by now.

 

“I…uh…well… thank y—”

 

And then, her stomach growled. Aster stared at her, wide-eyed and surprised. Tifa gaped, and her face turned beet red.

 

She had lost the chance to eat at her own birthday celebration.  **And** she had been too tired to eat from the tray they had given to her…

 

“Would you like to dine with me?” he offered, a smile forming on his lips.

 

Tifa shut her eyes tight and nodded with a whimper.


End file.
